Bhaalspawn Union
by maidros78
Summary: AU to ToB. The story contains my version of the fight for Bhaal's throne, and events thereafter. The Bhaalspawn are their own best allies, and worst enemies. Recognising that, one Bhaalspawn begins his attempts to gather his siblings to his standard.
1. Vox Populi

**Bhaalspawn Union – 1**

**Vox Populi**

(Author's Note: This story is AU and constitutes my second effort to write the story of the Bhaalspawn Union. The first part was written a couple of years ago, and was partly posted in the Attic. My main grouse with ToB is that the entire game is completely linear. It is – go there, get the artefact X, kill Bhaalspawn Y. Rinse and repeat, and you have finished the game. It lacked the diversity of SoA, and even more, it completely robbed the PC of all initiative. Worst of all, it reduced the other Bhaalspawn into complete caricatures. There was nothing that any intelligent PC could do, even if he suspected Melissan of being up to no good. I will be taking a very different approach to the whole business, and the events afterwards.

One assumption I am making is that the timeline of the Shadows of Amn took at least several months, rather than the few weeks it is in the game.

As usual, all criticism is welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate of any of the characters. I am just playing in the FR world.)

(The story begins after the fall of Irenicus and during the convalescence period in Suldanessellar. The PC, Inglor Starym, is a gold elf of true neutral alignment and a mage/thief)

--(Beginning of the Chapter)--

Inglor sat at his desk, his eyes fixated on a book in front of him, when someone rapped sharply on his door. The Bhaalspawn called, "Enter!"

The door opened, ushering in the slender figure of Jaheira. Seeing the elf still clad in casual robes, and engrossed in his book, the druid demanded imperiously and impatiently, "Inglor! Aren't you going to get ready?!"

"Get ready for what?" drawled her elven companion, as imperturbable as his druidic interlocutor was impatient. In fact, Inglor had not even looked up from the tome he was immersed in.

Jaheira looked at the Bhaalspawn with a mixture of annoyance and frustration. "Have you forgotten the Midwinter celebrations the Queen told us of? There will be many elven dignitaries expecting you!"

"Well, they'll have to resign themselves to a disappointment, I guess, " responded Inglor, still concentrating on the book in his hand.

Jaheira shook him by the shoulder, "Inglor! Are you mad! You can't afford to disgrace the Queen like that! She's been through a lot to help us and you won't even ..."

"Jaheira, I've had enough of the hostile glares on the walkways of this city", replied Inglor, raising his head to face his interlocutor at last, his voice cold and incisive. "I've no wish to tolerate the whispers behind the hands, the hostile stares behind my back and the unspoken hostility in every gesture. I see no need to endure any more disdain and coldness than I absolutely must. And all to make a spectacle of myself amidst the jokers of her court!" Inglor mastered himself, before shrugging indifferently, "No, thanks! You are welcome to make out my excuses if you like."

Jaheira had flinched at the vehemence of the speech, more so because she could not truthfully deny it. Inglor had risked his life – he had a lot at stake on his own account, it was true – nevertheless, he had risked a lot to help save the People from the minions of Irenicus. Yet, the moment the news had spread around that their saviour was a Bhaalspawn, and had been unwittingly responsible for the return to the Exile, the People had turned against him. She spoke neutrally, "Destiny means nothing to the victims, Inglor. While the people do not understand, the Queen is grateful for your help .."

"Gratitude!", sneered Inglor. "It lasts all but two weeks! Have you not learnt this basic fact yet? And in any case, what will it avail me if the Queen is actually grateful? Her subjects will continue to hate the guts of the fool who saved their worthless hides. Did you hear Elhan thanking you or me after the fall of Irenicus? Or did the priestess, Demin, have a word of concern for the welfare of the ones who saved her life from the Rakshasa? I wonder if I should have left them to the tender mercies of the minions of Irenicus and concentrated on the big bad mage himself!" He sighed wearily, laying his hand on her arm, "Go on, my old friend. The Queen needs to present a powerful ally, who is not controversial. The presence of a Bhaalspawn – Imoen's or mine – could far more easily harm, than help. Besides, you know the People of the Wealdath far better than I. Take Aerie with you. Imoen and I talked about the coming festivities last night and have decided to stay away. You can speak to the guests at today's feast, and stay at the Queen's side. We shall speak again tomorrow morning."

"But, Inglor, Ellesime ..."

"Enough of this, Jaheira, my old friend! I've made up my mind. There's no point in my coming there. It's a feast, in case you've forgotten. Elves are supposed to enjoy the evening, and they won't be able to do it in my presence – they'll be too busy observing me, trying to spot the moment when I suddenly sprout fangs or horns and attack the feasting crowd!"

The druid admonished, "There is no need to be so bitter. They are but worried, like everyone else."

"Let them worry away from my presence", snapped the elf. "I had credited elves with a higher sense of decorum, but I see I was mistaken." He sighed wearily, "Go on, Jae. Have fun."

Jaheira saw that it was useless to argue against the resolve of her Bhaalspawn friend. Once he had made up his mind, he was adamant. A sudden suspicion occurred to her, "What are you planning to do in the meantime, Inglor?"

The gold elf replied evasively, "I shall take a walk through the woods."

"Does this 'walk' involve fighting a few dangerous monsters?"

"No, no – I promise you I shall not be fighting at all. I merely wish to clear my mind, and the cold winter air in this part of the world is most conducive for it."

Jaheira looked askance at her student and friend – she clearly didn't believe him. Or more accurately, she believed him only partly. She believed that he didn't intend to get into fights, but it was most unlike the ward of Gorion to go on an aimless walk. He probably had a goal, but was reluctant to share it with anyone. Oh well, as long as he kept himself safe, she was content. A rap at the door announced the arrival of Aerie, and a few minutes later, the avariel and the druid had left for Ellesime's palace.

--(Scene Break)--

Outside the city of Suldanessellar in the Wealdath, the stars shone coldly and clearly in the cloudless, inky black sky and a chill wind whistled forlornly in the leafless tress, which were coated in a sheet of ice, giving the said trees a ghostly halo. More snow drifted listlessly on the surface of the frozen river, Suldanesse, which glistened in the pale moonlight. The city, bathed in snow, and moonlight, was at once beautiful and terrible. Even though it was just past dusk, there were few passers-by on the muddy paths that led out of the elven city, and the last hunters, enveloped in their heavy cloaks and mantles, were returning as quickly as possible to the Tree City. All of them were occupied with their own frozen miseries, and it appeared as if their chattering teeth were muttering imprecations against the biting cold that had made their existence so unbearable. Save for a few nocturnal creatures, most animals and birds had retreated to their warm haunts for the night, and around the Tree City, apart from these hunters, not the slightest signs of life were seen. The hand of winter lay heavy on this part of Faerun, and Auril's breath was a long way from giving way to Chauntea's regeneration.

Through this inclement weather, when everyone was hurrying indoors, a solitary figure clad in a mage robe of white and grey, with an elven shawl wrapped around his shoulders and a light pack across his back, strode away from the city swiftly and silently. He was flitting from shadow to shadow, his lithe form indistinguishable from the tree trunks he merged with seamlessly. Often, he paused to listen intently, making sure that no one was following him. Presently, he reached the top of a small cliff, and drew a piton, hammer, and a coil of light rope from his backpack. A dozen blows of the hammer had driven the stake firmly into the ground, whereat the hooded figure knotted the rope tightly to the piton, and tossed the other end over the cliff. Finally raising himself from his work, he gave a soft owl hoot. A similar hoot answered his call, and soon he was joined by another figure clad in pink mage robes. "Well, Immie?" the former questioned.

"No one following us. But the gate guard's eyes nearly popped out. He ran to the barracks the moment you left. I'm surprised we've got no company."

"Ah – well, Elhan knows and the others would've guessed that it's too dangerous to follow us. They'll keep a discreet distance. Anyway, we've got no time to waste. Keep a lookout, and take care of yourself. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Imoen nodded, and Inglor began to slither down the rope. The mountaineering skills needed for his job were minimal. All he needed to do was to fend himself off the face of the cliff. Five minutes later, he had completed the hundred foot descent, gained the treeless plateau at the foot of the cliff, and whistled sharply. Inglor had planned wisely – as a meeting place, his choice was impeccable. With the cliff sheer, it was impossible, even for elves, to make their way down without the aid of climbing equipment. And using climbing equipment in his presence was madness - no one could scramble behind him without disclosing themselves. With Imoen watching at the head of the cliff, no one could eavesdrop on him from above either. As for using magic to snoop on him or his sister, it was laughable. Both brother and sister were very powerful mages in their own right, and magical means to snoop on either without their trained senses triggering their alarms was all but impossible. Finally, if anyone had indeed followed him – as he suspected that the elves would – they would be unable to approach him, and were welcome to follow him back to the city of Suldanessellar. He was carrying nothing compromising. The only way Inglor's plan could have been miscarried was if his informant had been betrayed and followed, but Inglor was reasonably certain that such was not the case. The gold elf had taken every bit of precaution possible to guard his interlocutor, who was none other than his lieutenant in the Shadow Thief guildhall that the elf commanded.

Inglor reflected that the consummate irony was that, of all the factions and guilds in Amn, the most trustworthy had been the Shadow Thieves. It was a telling indictment of the more famously benign groups. As a guildmaster, Inglor had considerable leeway in his operations. As long as he paid his dues, and did not damage the organisational interests in any way, he could do what he wanted with his force. Inglor had begun with a motley crowd of pick-pocketers, thieves, assassins, and slave-traders. Quickly, he had dispensed with the assassins, the slave traders, and the ones who indulged in the more ugly forms of crime, dismissing them with handsome compensations or sending them to other guildmasters with recommendations. Then he had focussed on one area of interest to him – intelligence. His group had become the ultimate intelligence gathering organisation in Amn. Inglor traded in only one commodity – information. He recked little of affiliations or ideologies. He collected the necessary information from everywhere, for both his Shadow Thief patrons and his clients. His activities had gathered him a lot of connections, and had made him a wealthy individual.

On his whistle, another figure, this one a human male, appeared immediately keeping his hands clearly visible to the Bhaalspawn elf. Inglor waved his right hand in a half circle, raising a silencing ward around the two, completely cutting off the words from carrying outside the bubble that now encased them. Some quick passwords were exchanged, and Inglor relaxed slightly, smiling at Jariel, He finally voiced, "You made me come out in this damned weather. I hope it's worth it."

"It is", replied the other, his strong human voice a sharp contrast to the elf's mild and grave tones.

"You've finally got a name for me?" There was slight surprise in the elf's voice.

"Two names. Balthazar and Gromnir."

Inglor was silent for a moment. "Tell me about Balthazar."

"Balthazar's a monk. Based in Amkethran – Calimshan. Heads some Order of monks there. Also the local garrison commander. Actually, the monks make up most of the garrison of Amkethran. That's the Pasha's price for letting them use the fortress and monastery there. That's all we know about him."

"Excellent! What about the other?"

"Gromnir. A half orc. Commander of a mercenary force called The Marchers'. Based in Tethyr, but operates in Tethyr, Calimshan and the Forest of Mir. Has sold his blade to a lot of people. Rather versatile lad. Private guards, mercenary soldiers, bounty hunters – he's into everything."

"Very good. Anything else?"

The other hesitated, and Inglor persuaded him to continue, "Come on, it's okay. Tell me what it is."

"You're not the only one looking for Bhaalspawn. There's someone else."

Inglor's eyebrows went up, but he exhibited no other reaction. "Who?"

"I don't know", replied the other. "All I know is that it's a woman."

Inglor reached into his robes and brought a small satchel of coins. He handed it to his lieutenant, "You've done very well, Jariel. Try to find out more about them, but keep a safe distance. I'll meet you in three weeks. Our usual place and time."

The other nodded in acquiescence, took the proferred gold, slipped it into his own tunic, and disappeared into the forest without fuss. Inglor watched the Jariel go, and then clambered up the rope. His sister was there to greet him, and having retrieved his equipment, the gold elf joined her on the four hour walk back to Suldanessellar.

--(Scene Break)--

Elhan and another elf were standing, waiting at the gates of Suldanessellar, when the two Bhaalspawn returned to the City. Seeing the gold elf, Elhan questioned, "Where have you been, Inglor? We've been looking for you everywhere."

"I went for a walk", replied the elven Bhaalspawn curtly. "Why were you looking for me?"

"The Queen desires your presence immediately!"

Inglor and his sister exchanged a quick, sardonic, glance, but shrugged and followed Elhan dutifully. Imoen muttered, "Why call us this late?"

"No idea", shrugged Inglor. "Something's gone wrong, doubtless. Something badly wrong. Look at the number of People still up this late. Only bad news of the first importance would be conveyed to us even in the dead of the night", he finished sardonically.

"What could have gone wrong?" Imoen's brows went up.

"I'm not sure. But look, we are getting more hostile stares than usual. People are openly pointing at us, raining maledictions when we're not looking. Only question is whether it's anything to do with us. If it's concerning our actions, we'll be booted out soon. If it's something wrong with the City, we'll be conscripted into the Queen's service. I'm not sure which is worse", returned Inglor, his lips quirking in a bitter smile.

A few minutes walk brought the duo to the palace of the daughter of Rillifane. An usher quickly presented them to Her Majesty, who was accompanied by both Demin and General Sovalidass. The Queen, bidding them be seated, ordered one of the attendants to serve refreshments, and began in a worried tone, "Inglor, there's just been a terrible accident. We're all truly sorry!"

"May I inquire what has occurred, Your Majesty?" Inglor's surface calm belied his agitation.

"During the feast, a fire broke out in the lower side of the City. A few buildings were gutted by the conflagration and there have been some casualties."

Inglor's heart had constricted when he heard of a fire in the lower part of the town – the place where he and his friends had been lodged. Surely nothing had happened to Aerie and Jaheira? He was aware that Imoen's hand had tightened painfully on his shoulder, and that her face reflected shock and horror. Inglor himself outwardly manifested no reaction, merely looking inquiringly at the beautiful daughter of Rillifane. Ellesime continued hurriedly, as though she intended to finish before her nerve failed, "Your friends have not been accounted for. We're still searching for them – both at the site of the fire and elsewhere!"

"Were they caught in the fire?" Inglor's voice betrayed no emotion.

"We don't know yet! All we know is that they went back to your residence after the festival. We've had no trace of them afterwards."

Inglor's voice was now distant and grave. It was detached, almost academic. He questioned, "What of the fire itself, Your Majesty?"

Ellesime explained, "The fire is now under control, although it has not been completely extinguished. We are looking for survivors and bodies now."

"Permit me to offer condolences for the lost ones, Your Majesty. Has the cause of the fire been established?", murmured the elf gravely.

"I am afraid not, Inglor", replied the Queen regretfully.

"I see. I thank your Majesty for the courtesy of letting me know of the accident." Inglor spoke as if the matter was of no greater consequence than a strayed hound or a falcon. "With your permission, Your Majesty, I would like to search the buildings that have been burnt." The queen nodded her acquiescence and the two Bhaalspawn siblings, having thanked the Queen for her courtesy and generosity, made their way back towards their lodgings, their steps brisk and firm as ever. Imoen wanted to rush to the site of the fire, but her brother's cold, firm grip on her wrist made clear his argument. The time for haste was past, and no purpose would be served by running around wildly. This was the moment of careful consideration, prior to any action. Everything done now would have serious repercussions.

In the Queen's reception chamber, the three elves had remained with the daughter of Rillifane. Sovalidass broke the silence after the Bhaalspawn had left, remarking maliciously, "Your Highness observes that the Hellspawn is not too worried about his companions. Nothing else is to be expected from a Child of Murder!"

The Queen who had been engrossed in her own thoughts finally spun to face the general. "Ah! His demeanour struck you that way, did it?"

"I do not quite follow your Majesty", returned Sovalidass, his eyebrows lifted.

"I confess I cannot always make out the Bhaal Child's true feelings either. All I can tell you is that I'm glad that I am not the one who set the fire, or harmed his companions." The Queen gave an odd shudder, and an eerie, uncomfortable silence followed her words.

--(End of the Chapter)--


	2. A Grateful People

**Bhaalspawn Union – 2**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. I am just playing in the world created by WotC, Bioware, etc.

**A Grateful People**

Imoen had been asked to search the upper floors of their quarters, while Inglor went through the lower parts and the sleeping chambers. The Bhaalspawn mage finished her search for their missing companions fruitlessly – there were no bodies at all in the upper chambers. Not that she had expected to find them, but her totally barren search had at least ensured that her efforts were not time consuming. She went down, only to find that Inglor had not returned yet. She went inside their old sleeping rooms looking for him, and in one of them – Jaheira's and Aerie's bedroom – found him looking almost mesmerised at what looked from the distance to be a soot blackened object. Hurrying forward, Imoen gave a groan of recognition.

"Ingie, that gold locket ...."

"Yes, it is the remains of the necklace I gave her." Inglor returned tonelessly.

Imoen moaned in despair, observed two more bodies next to Jaheira's and clutched sharply at her brother's shoulder, but Inglor made no answer, in word or deed. Imoen shook her brother out of his trance, "How, Inglor?" she whispered sharply.

"We need to find out," answered the mage-thief quietly. "I have not had time to examine them yet either."

After he had separated from his sister, the elven Bhaalspawn had not had long to search to find the bodies of Jaheira and Aerie. Both women were found in the sleeping quarters they had occupied – both on the charred remains of their cots. Inglor had recollected Ellesime's words about his missing companions, and had reflected for a moment that it was unlikely that Ellesime's soldiers had missed the duo, but then, no one could swear to the identities of the two lumps of carbon before him. It was only the accoutrements – those being metal had only bent and buckled under the heat of the fire – that allowed Inglor to identify Jaheira and Aerie's bodies positively. The third body remained to be identified. A few simple spells had allowed him to make sure that the bodies lying before him were the ones of his companions.

Even so, the gold elf had reasoned that Ellesime must have guessed that these were the two companions of the Bhaalspawn. A cynical smile had crossed his lips – probably the elven queen had left Inglor to discover the truth for himself. Why give him the bitter news? After all, bad news killed the messenger first, and if the Bhaalspawn reacted violently, Ellesime was not going to take a chance. He was certain that watchful eyes were following his every move since he had left the palace.

With a sigh, the elven Bhaalspawn once more turned his attention to the two lumps of carbon in front of him. He looked at the charred masses before him and felt only numbness. There was no pain or sorrow – perhaps, that would come later, once the shock had worn off. He could scarcely credit that his two friends with whom he had chatted and debated that very evening were gone, and yet those soot-blackened corpses were right before him, mocking his powerlessness, hammering into his soul the perils of those who kept company with a Bhaalspawn. With an effort, he finally shook himself from his reverie, and spoke in a soft whisper, "Imoen, wait here. I need to ascertain some things."

His sister nodded and Inglor bent down to the task of examining the bodies. Imoen saw her brother working efficiently, sometimes stooping over the bodies with a small knife in hand, scraping at the bodies, and sometimes chanting softly in his mild grave voice and at yet other times, looking minutely around for any signs that might hint at how they had come by their fates. An hour or so later, he was finished, and he called to his sister, "Immie, come over for a minute!"

When the young archmage appeared, Inglor pointed to Aerie's chest, where the there was a clear opening, "I had to clear away the carbon from the body, Immie," he explained in answer to her questioning glance. "But examine her body. Look on the underside of the breastbone."

Imoen did as she was bidden, and she gasped sharply, "There's a deep furrow. As if ....," her voice trailed away, and her brother's grimly finished it for her. "As if it was carved there with a knife or a dagger."

"But who ...," began Imoen, only to be cut off quietly. "You are asking the hardest question first, Immie. Let us first answer the `what'. We'll come in time to the `who'," admonished her brother. "Now look at Jaheira's neck."

Imoen once more bent down to examine the body as directed. After a minute or so, she looked up in mild surprise, "I don't see anything strange. Her neck is broken, but ..." she gestured towards the gutted and half collapsed building.

"Examine the wound carefully, Immie," smiled her brother tightly. "If something had fallen on Jaheira and broken her neck, we should expect to find that object around – perhaps inside the wound itself. Besides, part of the vertebra is missing. Where could it have gone?"

"Look, probably a beam fell on her or something," objected the human archmage.

Inglor cut her off, "A very strange beam it would be Immie, that cracked her neck, removed part of the vertebra and then decided to walk away along with the removed bone."

"So what d'you think happened?" questioned Imoen.

"She was shot by someone standing at the foot of her bunk – the natural angle an arrow or bolt would take, going diagonally across her throat. Observe that the vertebra just below the one completely gone is also grazed."

Imoen had gone ashy pale, but she had another objection. "No one could just waltz in here without her knowing," she remarked, pointing to Jaheira. "She would have awoken – she always slept so lightly!"

"Quite true. Which is why I want you to analyse her and see if some narcotic was administered to her. Or she may have been killed somewhere else and dumped here. We need to find out which. But before all that, take a look at the other body"

"Wh'o's it?" asked Imoen.

"I don't know who he is, but he's been stabbed three times as well. And look just above his body, on the wall!"

Imoen strained her eyes and read the scrawl, scratched with a fingernail in crimson on the soot-blackened plaster, "'AHR' What does it mean?"

"Think about it, Immie. It wasn't there last evening. So it's come during the last night. You agree?"

Imoen nodded, and her brother continued, gesturing at the writing, "The thing's only a foot above the ground, so whoever wrote it was on the ground while writing it. My _blood identity_ spell assures me that it was written with his own blood. Given that the writing is also covered in soot and not at all disurbed, we can deduce that it was written before the fire."

Imoen acquiesced, and Inglor pursued, "Now, look at his stab wounds. Many of them are serious, and the combination of the three wounds is almost certainly fatal within a few minutes. Assuming that he was the one writing it - and I am inclined to believe he was the one who wrote it - he had, at the most, only a few minutes to write it after he was stabbed. And yet, we don't see any more of his blood around. So, my reconstruction is that he was stabbed elsewhere, and thrown here before the fire. And as he lay dying, he showed enormous courage, grit and presence of mind to try to write his fate before he collapsed from his wounds."

Imoen was looking horrified, her eyes tearing up. Inglor whispered sharply, "Later, Im. We can grieve later. We've got work to do now."

Imoen pulled herself together with an effort. "What now?"

Can I depend on you to check both Aerie and Jaheira for any soporifics?"

Imoen nodded dumbly, and her brother warned, "Be careful, Imoen. The ones who dared kill Jaheira and Aerie may still be around."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," responded his sister in a tight voice. "What're you gonna do in the meantime?"

Inglor had cut Aerie and Jaheira lightly on their arms, drawing some blood. He vaguely replied, "Try out an idea of mine," he returned, even as he began dusting the blood with some powder he had drawn from his pocked. "We'll soon find out if they were killed elsewhere and dumped here," he finished, and began chanting over the blood in his mild, grave voice.

Imoen stifled a sob as she looked at the bodies of her two best friends – bodies which she would have to examine to find out how they were killed. Inglor raised his head from his task, smiled sadly and murmured to himself, "How young you are, Imoen! You can still weep!"

---(Scene Break)---

"Your Majesty, the Hellspawn are too dangerous to be tolerated here!" came the strident tone of General Sovalidass. "We need to get rid of them now!"

"What are you saying?" came the grave voice of Ellesime.

"He is too dangerous a creature. He has left a trail of bodies in his wake wherever he goes."

"And what do you propose?" came the reproachful voice of Reirra, her expression showing clearly that she did not relish the prospect at all.

"Several groups would pay handsomely for his capture," he remarked obliquely.

"What a wonderful idea, my lord!" came a cool, sardonic voice from behind. "Truly are the elves of Suldanessellar gifted in the art of gratitude! No wonder that this city generated an Irenicus and a Bodhi!" Inglor Starym was standing in the doorway just behind Demin and Sovalidass, his invisibility dissipating, as he stepped into the chambers. Sovalidass reacted violently at the sudden appearance of Inglor – swinging his blade in the direction of the voice. However, his efforts were destined to come to nought. Sovalidass' sword sank into a soft shimmering mist conjured by Inglor and got lodged there with a soft thump, and the gold elven Bhaalspawn divested him of the weapon, rapping him smartly on the wrist with the haft of his own blade, and pulling the blade from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Put down your weapon, my Lord Sovalidass!" ordered Ellesime sharply, worried at the possible complications that might arise from the folly of the general. Fixing Inglor with an intense stare, she continued, "And you, sir, did I not send word to you to wait until I was ready to receive you?"

Inglor casually tossed the general's sword at the foot of the queen, even as he sheathed his own. "I am sorry," returned the Bhaalspawn, a world of sarcasm in his voice. "But I fear that it was impossible for my sister and myself to wait." He stepped into the room, followed by his sister. He continued, contempt dripping from his voice, "After last night's events, I thought I had seen the heights of brazenness, and ingratitude. I am glad to see that my lord just proved that I was mistaken. As such, my sister and I have come to inform your Majesty that we shall not be imposing on your kindness much further. We will be leaving within the hour. We are much obliged for your hospitality." The gold elf had pronounced the final word with such disdain that almost everyone flinched.

Ellesime had never truly believed that the previous night's fire and the deaths of Jaheira and Aerie had been an accident. She had had her suspicions, but had not had the time to investigate them. The Bhaalspawn's words suggested now that she had not been mistaken. She made an instant decision. "Demin, Elhan, general, Reirra – please give me a few minutes alone with Inglor and Imoen. We will continue our discussion later."


	3. Vox Regina

**Bhaalspawn Union – 3**

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate. All of it belongs to Bioware, TSR, WotC, and others. I am just playing in their world.

**Vox Regina**

The Queen looked at Inglor sadly for a minute, reflecting how far relations with the elf who had saved her City had fallen. 'It's all wrong,' she thought to herself. 'None of this should be happening. Have we fallen so far that we requite evil for good, harm our kin who help us, and make enemies out of allies?' Outwardly, she gave no sign of her worry - she merely beckoned Inglor and Imoen to follow her and led them into the palace garden, towards the massive trunk of the Tree of Life. She began quietly and gravely, "May I surmise from your earlier remarks that you suspect foul play in the deaths of your friends?"

Inglor ignored her question, parrying it with an observation, "I see your Majesty is well informed about the fate of my friends."

"The news was brought to me a few minutes before you arrived," answered the Queen sadly. "But, Inglor, I beseech you to hear me out ere you take your resolutions."

Inglor bowed coldly in assent, and Ellesime sighed, waving towards the Tree, "I will speak frankly in the hope that frankness may beget frankness. I brought you here because this is to me, the most sacred place, and I am aware of how little trust there is between us. Here, in front of the Tree of Life, I will not lie, Inglor. I do not know how your friends were killed, nor have I ever wished you or them any harm. I only wish to know what really happened to Jaheira and Aerie, and in return, I will provide any assistance within reason to you. You have saved my life and my City and you will not find me ungrateful."

Inglor and Imoen exchanged a quick glance, before Inglor queried, "What does Her Majesty wish to know?"

"Please tell me all you know about the deaths of Aerie and Jaheira. I know nothing save that they are dead."

Inglor spoke in a cold, passionless voice, "Aerie was stabbed to the heart about a furlong from your palace, on the path to the Temple of Rillifane. Jaheira was shot through her throat as she lay in her bed, asleep in our quarters." On a hunch, he decided to test Ellesime by throwing a bit of information out, "We also found another elf we couldn't identify, dead in our quarters. He had been stabbed multiple times." Ellesime breathed in sharply at the news and Inglor remarked, "May I suppose that Her Majesty knows who it is?"

"I have not seen the body, so I cannot answer for certain. But my guess is that it is Les'reth."

"Who is Les'reth?" asked Imoen.

The daughter of Rillifane sighed, "I suppose I had better start at the beginning. You see, since it became known that you two are Bhaalspawn, there have been murmurs of discontent and anger - aye, even hatred - against you. I feared that some of them might try to do you a mischief, so I put two of my best rangers to keep a close eye on you. Their instructions were to protect you from any harm. Les'reth was one of them and he has been missing since the fire as well."

Imoen questioned sceptically, "To protect us?"

"As much to protect you as them," replied the Queen. "They have no idea what they are dealing with, and very likely, they would be crushed by you. I would rather that they were kept away from you. I had hoped to prevent any unpleasantness."

Inglor reflected cynically that while the Queen was indeed speaking the truth, she was not speaking the whole truth. He had no doubt that the rangers had been asked to protect him and his group from any would be attackers, and vice versa, but their principal task would be to keep a close watch on them and have Ellesime informed about their movements and actions. Well, well - that was something to be borne in mind for the remainder of the interview. Ere he could remark, Ellesime mildly reproved him, "I don't need to know what you are doing. Your plans are your own, and I know enough that you mean no harm to me or the citizens of Suldanessellar."

"And how did you deduce that?" Inglor's voice was quietly distant – he had hidden well his surprise at Ellesime's ability to guess his thoughts.

"I know that you made no bid to claim the power of the Tree after you defeated Jon. Had you been the power hungry maniac that many of my citizens believe you to be, you would never have given up the power of a demi-god without a contest. You could have seized the power for yourself and come here to dethrone me and plunder this City."

"Perhaps, I merely know my limitations," murmured Inglor.

"Would that everyone had that wisdom," breathed the Queen fervently. "You do yourself an injustice, Inglor, but we will not speak of this. What else can you tell me about the fate of your friends? Do you know who killed them?"

Inglor returned cryptically, "Yes, your Majesty. In a way."

Ellesime arched her brow quizzically, and Inglor returned, "I know how they were killed and one of the killers – or at least, one of the accessories for the murders. There are several things that are still unclear to me."

"Perhaps you would explain?"

"Let me start at the beginning," sighed Inglor. "I shall reconstruct to you what I know and explain my reasoning later. The plot was laid carefully, your Majesty. Aerie and Jaheira fell to the blades of the assassins, but all four of us were the intended victims."

He continued, "The plot was painfully simple. The four of us were to have been in the party, as you know. There we would be drugged – what exact medium was chosen, I know not – and, assassins would be brought in from outside and all four of us murdered in our beds as we lay under the influence of the narcotics."

"Assassins brought in from outside, Inglor?" Ellesime's voice contained slightly more than a hint of skepticism.

Inglor rubbed a weary arm across his brow, before explaining further, "Indeed, yes. And last night was the perfect time for that, what with so many outsiders and guests here. New faces would draw very little attention and they could easily pass off for one of the guests."

"How were the outsiders going to be brought in? The guards at the gate have sworn that no one came in or went out. I can assure you that all the guards at the gates are very loyal and reliable."

"Doubtless. But the assassins did not come in via the gates. They came through a portal that one of the associates of the killers opened for them."

"That's impossible!" exclaimed Ellesime. "There are very powerful wards around the City. Only members of my Council have the power to lower the wards!"

"I am aware of that, Your Majesty," returned Inglor quietly.

"And you suggest that one of my Council opened a portal?"

"Through a proxy. And that proxy was Vyrn."

"How do you know this?"

"I found the magical traces of a portal just near the spot where Aerie was killed. And Aerie was killed because she tried to stop it. Had it been a stranger who was opening the portal, Aerie would never have been caught off guard. She would, at the very least, have put up a strong fight – after all, she was a very powerful cleric and a mage, and she would have confronted the person prepared. There were no defensive enchantments on her body. She was unprepared because she trusted the person. That person could only have been Vyrn."

The quiet assurance in Inglor's voice brought up the queen short. She merely looked expectantly at Inglor, who began to explain in his mild, grave voice, "Perhaps you know that Aerie and Vyrn have been close these few weeks?" Seeing the queen's nod, Inglor continued, "Vyrn was trying to get close to Aerie precisely for one reason – to get information about Imoen and myself. I have long suspected this, since he is a member of an organisation that has sworn to work for my destruction. He approached Aerie because she was the only one he could manipulate. Imoen, myself and Jaheira would all be on our guard against such attempts, and he knew it was useless to try anything with us."

"And Aerie – did the avariel know?"

"I did warn her about his possible intentions. She ignored my warning. Besides, I decided to let him spy on us for my own purposes."

A sudden idea occurred to Ellesime. "You and Imoen were not at the party last night ...."

Inglor could almost read the queen's thoughts. He smiled wearily, "I had no clue that there was a plot against the lives of my companions or myself, your Majesty. Had I known, I had intervened decisively ere it happened."

The queen nodded in understanding, almost shamed by her suspicion of the gold elf would let his own companions die and Inglor continued, "I have been making some inquiries about the party. It seems that Vyrn left the party early. Aerie – that unfortunate, lovelorn girl – saw her lover leave. Now love is a disease whereby the heart expands to fill even the stomach and Aerie, having little need of nourishment, followed him to indulge her romantic palate and perhaps exchange a few kisses in the moonlight."

The bitter wisdom jarred on Ellesime and she looked anew at this cold, cynical creature whose spirit had been so badly scarred that he could callously mock the deaths of dear friends. There was little sorrow about him – only a strange lassitude that bespoke of one who had carried a burden too heavy for his shoulders for far too long, and had been become jaded and bitter about it all. Inglor, however, seemed to notice naught of her feelings, and proceeded with his explanation, "She followed him to the grove near the temple and was petrified with astonishment to see him opening a portal to the outside and bringing in people. Instead of simply observing the event and returning quietly to Jaheira and reporting what she had seen, she went and challenged her lover. The poor girl probably thought nothing of the danger she was running in doing so. Anyway, it was the last mistake she ever made. She got a knife in her ribs."

The daughter of Rillifane drew her breath in sharply at that, but Inglor continued unperturbed, "Now I think the killers panicked. In their original plan, all four of us were to be drugged and the hired blades would find easy pickings. And here was this wretched girl who had nearly caught them even before they had properly set foot in the city. Hiding the body of Aerie, they took shelter opposite our lodgings and waited for Jaheira. In her usual, watchful state, Jaheira would never be taken unaware. But, drugged, and desperately fighting off the narcotic, she was all but unconscious and tumbled into bed, heedless of her surroundings. Indeed, it is a testament to her willpower that she went back to our quarters on her own feet. The killers now shot her as she lay in bed, and flung in the body of Aerie. t must have been at this stage that your ranger intervened. Whether he tried to save Jaheira and Aerie, or he merely intervened without understanding, I know not. Whatever the cause, the result was the same. He put up a brave fight and managed to injure at least one of his opponents – I found blood at the site that did not belong to either Aerie or Les'reth. His heroism was for naught and he too fell to the blades of the assassins. The killers set fire to the building hoping to conceal all traces of the crime and fled the same way they had arrived, closing the portal behind them. Is there aught unclear about this?"

Ellesime's face had turned ashen under this clear recounting of the facts. "Impossible!" she muttered to herself. "My own Council!?"

"If her Majesty has other explanations, I shall be glad to listen," replied Inglor.

"How do you know they were drugged?" demanded Ellesime.

Imoen replied, "I performed an analysis of Jaheira's body. It contained considerable traces of salvia – a drug used as a soporific."

"But who could ..."

"Aye," nodded the gold elf grimly. "Who indeed? We don't know – yet." The last word was pronounced with a sinister relish that the queen looked up sharply.

"And Les'reth?"

"He tried to stop the attackers around the time they killed Jaheira. He put up a fight. They wounded him mortally and threw him into the building and set fire to it. But that ranger showed a tremendous presence of mind. With his own blood, he tried to write the name of his killer as he lay dying. We found it on the wall, just a foot above the ground – just three letters `AHR'. I assume he succumbed to his wounds before he could finish."

"AHR," repeated the queen thoughtfully.

"Would your Highness know who?" queried Imoen.

"I shall have investigations made, Imoen," answered the queen quietly. As though she were scarcely able to credit the information, she breathed, "But my own Council – who?"

"I do not know – perhaps her Majesty could hazard a guess better than me?"

There was a long silence as the elven queen paced around, a frown creasing her face. Finally, she raised her head, "You have uncovered much, Inglor, but there is a lot more unclear. I will have people I know to be trustworthy investigating it here. But if the assassins came from the outside, some of the clues probably lie outside Suldanessellar. I have a proposition if you will consider it."

"And what is it, your Majesty?"

"I depute you to act in the name of Suldanessellar and investigate this crime outside the City. You have full freedom to discover who is behind the crime, and who the perpetrators were. Spare no one, howsoever high or mighty. Give me a report of what you have discovered."

Inglor and Imoen exchanged a sharp glance at that. The daughter of Rillifane continued, "Inglor, if they tried to murder you and your sister inside the city, they are not likely to spare you outside. They have probably all trails leading away the City covered. They will be waiting to ambush you. Have you a safe path out of the City?"

"I had a path plotted – it remains to be seen if the route is safe or not," replied Inglor with his terrible calmness.

"I can help you there," returned the queen. "I can open a portal for you that will take you to a safe place in Zazesspur. From there, you should be able to make your escape."

Inglor reflected cynically that the queen was clever in extracting her price for his cooperation in the investigation. The queen once more reproved him, "Inglor, my offer to escort you to safety is independent of my request for your help. My help is yours regardless of whether you accept my offer."

Inglor bowed, "I thank your Majesty. And I accept. If I can discover who the assassins were, and who aided and abetted them, I shall send the information to you. But what am I to do with any citizens of Suldanessellar that might be guilty."

"If it is possible, bring them for trial here. Else, you should act in the interests of justice, as dictated by circumstance."

Inglor looked up sharply at that. The queen was actually sanctioning the deaths of her own subjects for attacking a Bhaalspawn. Well, well – that was indeed something new. He bowed, with genuine respect, "I shall perform her Majesty's will. May I request that both Aerie and Jaheira be given a decent funeral?"

"I shall take care of it. You may depend on me."

"Thank you, your Majesty. Good luck and farewell."

---(Author's Note)---

(I won't be clinging to the exact spells and powers of BG or even FR canon. I will be inventing my own spells, powers and their uses. However, all readers may rest assured that neither Inglor, nor Imoen will not have super powers and all enemies of significance will be at least as powerful as they are. I want my heroes to win through intelligence and by outmanoeuvring and out thinking their enemies, not because they are utterly invulnerable or immortal, or have goddesses for girlfriends.)


	4. Continued Investigations and Revelations

**Bhaalspawn Union – 4**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to Bioware, TSR, WotC and others. As usual, all criticism is welcome.

**Continued Investigations and Revelations**

Inglor and his sister walked into their Shadow Thief Guildhall in Zazesspur just as the sun was setting. Ellesime's portal had brought them just outside of the city and they had chosen to walk into the city unobtrusively. The two Bhaalspawn had then chosen to go to the Shadow Thief guildhall which Inglor operated in the City to learn of the news. There was an unnatural excitement in the hall – very unlike the quiet efficient way in which his hall usually functioned. Anmol, his lieutenant of Zazesspur, was surprised to see him, but also heartened. "Guildmaster, we need to talk," he whispered. "It's urgent."

Inglor returned to his lieutenant, "Meet me in my office in ten minutes."

The gold elf gestured to his sister to follow him and entering his office, quietly and methodically performed a scan of the place for any scrying or listening spells. Satisfied that no one was spying on the place, he checked the traps he had set. Once more satisfied with the results, he warded the place against physical eavesdroppers and waited for Anmol to come. The Bhaalspawn's second-in-command in the city entered the guildmaster's office a few minutes later and began without any preamble, "There was an attack on our external infiltration team. Two dead and the third, Zaeron Tane – the group leader – taken captive."

Inglor evinced no perceptible reaction, but his brain was working furiously. Zaeron Tane was the leader of the team assigned to looking into the existence of other Bhaalspawn in Amn and Tethyr. Zaeron, a half elf, had been part of a team of Cyricians that were tasked with collecting information about the Bhaalspawn. The leader of Zaeron's group, Venduris, had ambushed Inglor and his sister with his five top confederates as Inglor and Imoen left Bodhi dead. The resulting battle had been a surprise to the Cyricians. The two Bhaalspawn had killed four of the six ambushers and captured the remaining two – the half elven infiltrator, Zaeron Tane and the sorceress, Selina Shadowstorm. The two captives had been made a surprisingly generous offer by Inglor. Continue on their task of looking for Bhaalspawn with a better pay than before, as associates of Inglor. Both of them had jumped at the offer.

With an effort, the gold elf shook himself out of his reverie. If someone had attacked Zaeron's group, it was either because the half-elf had come up some important information, or else, someone else was interested in the Bhaalspawn and wanted to know what he knew. Neither boded well for his projects. What surprised him was that someone was so knowledgeable of his work to isolate and assault Zaeron. His cold, midnight black eyes focussed on Anmol, "By who?"

"Surprisingly, lord Westrane's guards. Ten of them ambushed our group as they were making their way back to the guildhall last evening. Two fell in the battle and Zaeron was taken prisoner."

"How do you know?"

"Our shadow of the group reported this. He observed everything." The shadows were Inglor's innovation for the infiltration teams among the Shadow Thieves. The shadows were people supposed to follow the group – in particular, the group leaders. Their only purpose was observation and they had strict orders never to expose themselves to danger. This ensured that Inglor always knew what happened to and because of his infiltration teams. It also kept infighting to a minimum – the gold elf put a stop to any unseemly power games in his own teams with a cold ruthlessness that was frightening. Inglor kept a close watch on his own groups, and his well paid and equipped teams hesitated to risk their place for power games that might cost heavily.

"Did our shadow recognise anyone?"

"Only two – Amalfio – the Westrane head of guards, and Colson, the ex-militia wizard."

"Any demands from the captors?" rasped Inglor.

"None, guildmaster," replied Anmol.

Inglor's knowledge of the nobility of Zazesspur was quite thorough, as was his loyalty to his own people. The gold elf thought for a few minutes, and then quietly wrote a dozen names on a piece of parchment. "Case these people for the next week. Use whatever manpower you need. This business gets priority. And tell Selina to meet Imoen and me this evening."

Anmol nodded and disappeared into the guild. Inglor had unpacked a large bowl of scrying his bag of holding. He added water into the bowl, and dusted it with a strange powder. Then he began changing a divination spell over it. He needed accurate information about both Zaeron and the Westranes.

---(Scene Break)---

For the tenth time that evening, Amalfio pressed the burning brand to the cheek of the half elf, while Colson readied a spell to breach the half-elf's mental defences. The infiltrator had shown an astonishing amount of resistance to both pain and mind magics. Lord Westrane spoke, "What Hellspawn support this fiend?"

Zaeron judged that it was time to show a bit of weakening. "One I know of," he wheezed. "Imoen."

"Imoen is a Hellspawn?" queried the surprised noble.

The infiltrator nodded, before collapsing forward in agony. Lord Westrane nodded to the others, "Tell the guards to return the dog to his cell. We'll continue this tomorrow."

Zaeron had been in a world of pain. For the past three days, he had managed to give little away, knowing that his life would come to a bitter and painful end once his captors were satisfied that they had gleaned every scrap of knowledge about the Bhaalspawn that he knew. If they found him too reluctant, they might kill him, despairing of making him talk. If he gave away too much, they might kill him because they thought they had wrung everything of worth from him. Consequently, he had to play a difficult and dangerous game – giving away some, but convincing him that there was much more knowledge to gain from him. The torturers would go slowly and methodically, taking care not to damage his mind. His one hope was now that Selina and the others, perhaps even Inglor, would come to his rescue.

His three captors left the cell. Colson spoke first. "Inglor Starym has returned to the city."

Lord Westrane fixed him with a cold stare. "What has that to do with anything?"

"We have his lackey in our dungeon," returned Amalfio delicately.

"So?"

Colson spoke hurriedly, before he lost his nerve, "Has it been considered how Inglor Starym will react to the killing of his lackeys and capturing this half elf?"

"It has been considered," returned the old noble. "His organisation here is weak, and he cannot breach our wards. His reaction is of no consequence."

All that was true, but it did not ease either of his two companions. He is still Inglor Starym, thought Colson. There were tales galore about the ruthless resourcefulness of the gold elf. However, he did not voice his thoughts aloud. Opposing Lord Westrane was bad for health.

The other two left and Lord Westrane moved back inside his palace. A tall woman was waiting for him there. "Yes, my Lord?" she inquired.

"We got one name. Imoen," he grunted. "A few more days and we should be able to get everything out of the half-breed bastard."

The woman exhibited some surprise, but said nothing. Lord Westrane growled, "What orders do you bring?"

"Two Bhaalspawn are moving into Saradush. A fighter named Berena Elkan and a minotaur named Halbazer Drin. Both were brought there by a woman named Melissan. She's struck some deal with Count Santele and he's agreed to protect them. We don't know against what."

"Can't we persuade Santele to kill them? They could take the city with them if anyone powerful is after them."

"Aye. That's true. But Santele's stubborn and has refused our offers. Maybe he's getting more for protecting them. What I can tell you is that anyone getting those Hellspawn killed as they get there would be doing everyone a service," returned the woman.

"Are those my orders?"

"Not as yet. Just be ready if it's needed."

The older man nodded. "It shall be done."

---(Scene Break)---

Inglor had finished explaining the plan to Selina and Imoen. The sorceress had simply nodded, while Imoen was acquiescent. Inglor's plan had been frighteningly simple, if utterly cold blooded. It simply required strong skills to pull off the operation as he desired it.

Selina had left once she had been briefed. But Imoen held back.

"Why did the Westranes take Zaeron? I mean – I understand the interest in Bhaalspawn. But what is the Westranes' interest in us?"

"I suspect, but I do not know."

"What d'you suspect?"

"Let me confirm my suspicions, and I will speak then."

Imoen remained quiet for a long time. She whispered, "Do we need to do this?"

"What option have we? It is either this or giving up the life of Zaeron."

"Can't we negotiate?" she whispered. "Buy back his freedom?"

"The problem, Immie, is that we would only be encouraging our enemies. Everytime they want something, they will kill a few of our people and take others hostage. They will see that this game works, and once they see it works, it would spread like wildfire."

"But this ...", she breathed, disgust apparent in her voice.

"Disgusting? Brutal? Yes, I fear so." Her brother looked away for a few moments, before continuing, "Peace is, Im, when people either respect us, or when they fear us. No matter what we do, no matter how worthy and irreproachable our deeds, we will always be hated. Very few will respect us, simply because of what we are."

Inglor put a hand on his sister's shoulder, a hint of steel in his voice. "Never forget, Imoen, we are Bhaalspawn. To the Light, the oh-so-high-minded, the creatures who purport to act for the greater good, we are abominations – infernal beings to be eliminated for the good of Faerun. To the Dark, we are competitors who need to be destroyed. In this world, we have few allies and a lot of enemies. Since we cannot have the respect that stops others from attacking us, it must be fear that stops them."

---(Scene Break)---

In the summer home of the Westranes, Lord Westrane's two younger sons Ralphie and Oster were both raising their glasses in some inane toast, as a group of their friends were gathered round them. Several courtesans were there, `entertaining' the young group of nobles. Four guards, including Amalfio, were standing around near the walls, the door and the windows, looking bored. Both Ralphie and Oster had protested at the presence of the guards claiming that they would restrict and hamper the fun the nobles intended to have, but Lord Westrane had insisted that the guards be present to guard them from any danger.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a loud crash, and the heavy oaken door flew inwards. A figure appeared in the doorway, and a wave of his hand sent a sickly green bolt of energy into Amalfio. The guard captain did not have the ghost of a chance. He gave an agonising grunt as his life was ripped from his body, and he fell, dead before he hit the ground. A second guard gave a roar of rage and rushed at the intruder, only to be stopped dead by a simple command word by the invader. Dressed in dark robes, it was clear that the attacker was a mage of no small power. He addressed the cowering, dumbfounded courtesans in cold, grave tones, "Ladies, if you would please leave, I would be obliged."

They stood there, irresolute, while Ralphie growled, "Who in the abyss are you?" Another figure had followed the invader, and a jet of acid flew from the hand of this newcomer, scorching the face of the young noble, who shuddered and fell back a step. "You will speak when spoken to, dog," murmured the figure, in a tone of such menace that everyone in the room shuddered. The two remaining guards had now placed themselves before the cowering nobles, although it was evident that they were clearly terrified. The first continued pointing to the two Westranes, "You two and those two guards – into the corner there. The rest of you – out!"

One of the guards leapt with an angry cry at the second figure, but went down as a bolt of lightning struck him in the chest and sent him sprawling. He lay writhing on the floor, moaning in agony. The second figure spoke coldly, "No more foolishness. The game is over. The spectre nodded to the guards and the Westranes, "Into the corner!" This time they obeyed with alacrity. The figure then growled at the others, "Get out while you can! No more chances!" The others positively fled.

The first figure had murmured another spell, that flung the initially stunned guard into the corner as well. He drew some components from his pocket and murmured a spell, opening a portal. Quietly, he marched all the guards and the nobles into the portal, making them follow his companion. He closed the portal and then grabbing the body of Amalfio, opened another portal and disappeared into it.

---(Scene Break)---

While the Westrane nobles were being attacked and the guard captain killed, another figure had appeared on the roof of a small cottage a stone's throw from the Westrane palace. Seeing that everything was quiet and that no one had been alerted about the presence, the apparition murmured a spell and slipped down the chimney with the agility of a trained gymnast. A single wizard was sitting in a chair, with a bottle of malt in his in the room the figure emerged in. Hearing the soft thump of feet landing behind him, he leapt up, glaring wildly in all directions. However, his reflexes, dulled by alcohol, were woefully inadequate to deal with the intruder. A raw bolt of energy flew from the invader's hand, and he barely dodged it, awkwardly leaping backwards. However, his inebriation had left his balance and coordination sorely lacking, and he lost his footing, and landed awkwardly. His attacker was not slow to take advantage of the turn of events. A feminine voice from the invader turned the ground beneath him into water and he coughed and spluttered, trying to get his bearings right. His efforts were doomed as a powerful bolt of lightning struck him full in the face, the smell of roasted flesh and burnt hair pervading the room. Colson shrieked and clawed his ruined face in a terrible agony, but his attacker was relentless. He felt his hair grabbed in a grip of steel, and a dagger slit his throat, mercifully putting an end to his struggles. The female dragged his body behind her, opened a portal, and disappeared into it with the corpse of Colson in tow.

---(Scene Break)---

Betimes next morning, the old noble was woken up by a panic stricken guard. "My Lord! My Lord!" One of Lord Westrane's guards had come running into the presence of the old noble.

"What's it?" growled Lord Westrane.

"Milord, on our doorstep ..."

"What did you find on our doorstep? Speak!" rasped the old noble.

The guard gulped. "Last night, the summer house and Colson were attacked. Ralphie, Oster and the guards have disappeared. We found ..." The guard was rightly hesitant. After all, most often, bad news killed the messenger first.

Lord Westrane had gone pale. He recovered quickly. "What did you find on our doorstep?" The noble's voice was carefully enunciated.

"We found Colson and Amalfio – their bodies. Along with this note."

He held out a scrap of parchment. On it were the words in a firm, precise hand

"**Two of yours a day, until we get ours back."**

The old noble bit out a foul oath. The game had taken a very quick and nasty turn.


	5. Ruminations and Explanations

**Bhaalspawn Union – 5**

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate, or the Forgotten Realms or anything else. They all belong to Bioware, WotC, TSR and others. I am just playing in their world.

**Ruminations and Explanations**

Lord Westrane stalked out of his apartments in a cold fury, when he came face to face with the same woman whom he had conferred with the previous evening. She greeted him, "My Lord, a word if you please."

"Yes," he growled.

"Have you considered our possibilities in the face of the latest event, my Lord?"

"I'm damned if I give in to blackmail. I'll assemble my soldiers and hunt down all the shadow thieves in this city."

"No doubt," she returned dryly. "How will you find them?"

"I shall scour the city ...," began Lord Westrane, only to be interrupted by his guest, "Do not be rash, my Lord. For one thing, it is useless to search Zazesspur, since the Hellspawn is prepared for this reaction. All his underlings are probably lying low. For another, we can't afford to show our hand so openly. It will not do for our actions to be traced back to our organisation at the time." She did not add that she considered that fighting the Bhaalspawn to be extremely dangerous. Over a dozen of her `ally's colleagues' had learnt the hard way that fighting Inglor, even when they held advantages, was perilous in the extreme. The gold elf had an uncanny knack of turning the tables in his favour in the most unexpected of ways.

"So you think we should give in when we've got nothing to show for our efforts?"

"Let me speak to the prisoner. I think I can get what we need from him. And once that is done, we can give him back – we have no use for him."

"And my guards go unavenged? My sons remain kidnapped?"

"Once we return his thief, he'll return your sons. We can ensure that. As for your guards, there is a time and place to get tough, my Lord. This is neither the time, nor the place." The old noble glared mutinously at the woman, but she shook her head. "Consider, my Lord, a declaration of war against the Shadow Thieves will not be limited to this city or even Tethyr. The outcome of such a war will be very difficult to predict. Are you willing to risk a few hundred lives to avenge two guards?"

He growled angrily, but made no answer. The woman murmured. "So, my Lord, let him believe that he has won this round. We shall strike at a time and place of our choice."

The old noble glowered at her for a minute before barking out, "If you could get the answers from him, why did you not interrogate the dog earlier?"

"I had been ordered not to appear in this business at all. However, given the present circumstances, where time is limited, I think I am justified in intervening."

With nothing but the truth, she had been able to convince Lord Westrane. However, she remained seriously perturbed. Inwardly, she was calculating furiously. This Bhaalspawn was impressive. He had not attacked the Westranes directly – how he had even narrowed down to the Westranes was something she did not know yet, but that the Bhaalspawn knew was something not to be dismissed lightly. He had not simply killed all the Westranes in vengeance. Nor had he simply resigned himself to the loss of his underlings. No, he had shown his strength, yet left a window open for talks. She shook her head in puzzlement – this elf would bear watching. Most of the Bhaalspawn were crude, their bloodlust overruling their common sense. However, Inglor Starym was focussed and decisive. She would need to be on her guard against him. And study him further.

With an effort, she shook herself free of her brown study. With any luck, her presence would still remain hidden from the gold elf. She would have to interrogate the prisoner herself, but it was most unlikely that he would be able to tell anyone anything much about her by the time she was finished. She had ways of ensuring that. She had considered killing the prisoner or destroying his mind after the interrogation, but Inglor would most likely kill the noble's sons if she did that and she still had need of Lord Westrane and his influence. It was not the time yet to burn that bridge.

---(Scene Break)---

Zaeron Tane had a long experience in resisting interrogations. Being half drow, he had learnt the techniques of questioning and resisting it from the masters of the art – the drow. His father had made sure he had been well instructed in the field. But nothing could have prepared him for the session that awaited him.

He was confronted by a tall woman, of non-descript race. Her ears were slightly rounded, but still too long for a human. Probably a half elf, he decided. However, there was a strange odour about her. Not at all like the other half-elves. He could not place it – it reminded him of his father, and yet not quite. However, it was the other creature that was with the woman that sent shivers down his spine, for reasons he could not quite comprehend. The other was pale and yellowish, but apart from that, there seemed no other difference from other humans. Perhaps it was those cold, dead fish eyes that made him seem so terrible.

Zaeron's interrogation was brutal and swift. The woman had forced him to swallow a fiery liquid that burnt his throat. It made him strangely light headed and gave him a floating sensation. More importantly, it deprived him of the sensations of sight, and touch. Then he was assaulted by a powerful psionic attack. Zaeron tried to resist it with the techniques he had learnt among his father's people, but his best mental shields crumbled before the psionic assault. Then the alien presence in his mind went about ferreting out what it needed with a cold merciless thoroughness that shredded his brain. Zaeron screamed himself hoarse at the brutal rape of his mind, but neither his screams, nor his convulsions and writhing availed him anything. The captive infiltrator lost all sense of time – it might have been a few minutes, an hour or a day, but at long last, the presence receded from his mind and he was left, moaning and twitching on the cold floor of his cell. Just as he collapsed, he could have sworn that he heard a strange angry curse of annoyance from the woman. A word he had not heard in a very long time – not since he had returned to the human lands.

---(Scene Break)---

Imoen opened the door of her brother's office and entered. The gold elf looked up at her, as she murmured, "I really don't like this, Inglor. I really, really don't like this."

Inglor spoke no word, but raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Imoen repeated, "Inglor – I hate this. I don't like killing people – even mercenaries – and leaving their bodies with threatening notes."

"If you have a different plan that will get us back Zaeron, please tell me." Inglor returned coldly.

"How do you know they'll return Zaeron? How do you know they won't kill him off?"

"They would definitely kill him off if we didn't intervene. They had kidnapped him, and I can wager you anything, are torturing him for information – information about Bhaalspawn including you and me. Do you think they'll leave him around to blab once they've extracted all they need from him? Leave him free to accuse them?"

"And why will they release him now?"

Inglor sighed and put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "There is a good chance that they will release him now. There would be no hope for him otherwise. Either I had to play this card, or I had to leave Zaeron to his fate. Those were the two options. I choose to do what I can to save my friends, Immie."

Imoen ignored her brother's remonstrance. She returned scathingly, "If they kill Zaeron now, will you slaughter those boys you've kidnapped?"

"No," returned Inglor, in a voice that was soft, yet deadly. "But I will kill Westrane, after I have extracted from him why he kidnapped Zaeron."

Imoen gave a cold shudder, seeing her brother's ruthless disposition. Heartily she wished that Jaheira were around to guide Inglor down a gentler path. Imoen herself had never had sufficient will to contend against her gold elven brother. It was only Jaheira who had been able to convince him to walk a gentler path. But now Jaheira was gone, and her brother would follow his ice cold reasoning to its logical end, without Jaheira's stern kindliness to temper it. Inglor's bitter wisdom might pay dividends, but it was a cruel, and bleak path. A brain without a heart – that was what Inglor was. A creature as devoid of malice as he was of mercy. She dearly wished that there were some means she could nudge him down a milder line.

She was startled out of her reverie when Inglor continued softly, contemplatively, almost to himself, "I may have to do it nevertheless "

Imoen's heart was chilled. She blurted out with some difficulty. "Why?"

The gold elf made no reply, but continued to gaze into the distance, his hand gently caressing his sister's shoulder and hair. "Why Inglor?" persisted Imoen. "Surely you're not going to carry your vengeance that far?"

Inglor sighed, "Vengeance has nothing to do with it. Everything is wrong about this business, Im. Think of it – there were only half a dozen people who knew what Zaeron was up to. Myself, you, Jariel, Selina, Zaeron, and his two teammates. I am very sure none of us have talked. So it must have been the inquiries of Zaeron's team that touched off someone's suspicions. And I'm very sure that it was not Westrane who figured out what Zaeron was doing."

"How can you be so sure?" queried the Bhaalspawn mage.

"Three reasons," returned her brother. "First, and foremost, Zaeron had just returned to Zazesspur only a day before he was kidnapped. He would hardly have had enough time to set off any suspicious minds here. He was in Ithmong and the surrounding areas just before that. It must have been there that his – or his men's – actions aroused doubt. Westrane has not left Zazesspur in more than a month. And the ambush for Zaeron was superbly organised. While it may have been carried out by Westrane's guards, it was too well arranged to have been organised by them. Zaeron and his men must have been tracked continuously and both the time and place of ambush were superbly chosen. That kind of efficiency is out of the class of either Colson or Amalfio, or even Westrane. Second, I have been trying to scry into the Westrane palace and grounds for the last week, without any success. I know the Westranes have wards, but I also know without conceit that there are only a handful of mages in Amn and Tethyr who can set wards to stop my divination spells. I have checked with all of them and none of them have had any dealings with the Westranes. Even more puzzling is a strange pattern to these anti-scrying wards that I have never seen before – either among humans or among elves. I know the general styles of the wards of the prominent mages from around here, and these wards are not of that kind. That argues the presence of a strange, likely outlander, mage whose interest in the Bhaalspawn is intriguing to say the least. Finally, Westrane is a greedy scum who sells his guards, who double as mercenaries, to anyone who pays him enough. He doesn't care about Bhaalspawn or anything else on his own. He kidnapped Zaeron because someone paid him to do it. That, by the way, is another reason why I hope Zaeron will be returned."

"You hope?" questioned Imoen.

"I've never met Westrane," sighed Inglor. "I don't know what he's like – whether he's vindictive and vengeful or if he's a cool headed realist. Fighting us over Zaeron will be very painful to him, and we've already shown him what we're capable of."

Imoen was silent for a minute, as she processed the information her brother had tossed at her. She put her arm around her brother's shoulders and pulled him close. "Will you promise me one thing?" she whispered.

"What is it, Im?"

"Please don't go after Westrane."

"Why not?"

"I – I don't like to kill and I certainly don't want you to do it either. It makes us dirty and I don't want to lose my brother to Bhaal!"

Inglor smiled wryly, "You've been picking up some of Jaheira's cant."

"I don't care! You're not going to torture or murder Westrane! Please promise me that!"

Inglor made no answer. He remained strangely quiet, while his fingers ran through his sister's hair. "Promise," whispered Imoen.

"Be it so, Immie," sighed Inglor. "I'll not go after Westrane, unless he comes after us first."

"Thank you," murmured Imoen, kissing her brother on the cheek. Then she turned and fled from the room. She could have sworn that she heard her brother mutter, "You're not the only one who misses Jaheira, Im. I miss her every minute as well."

Imoen smiled to herself as she left her brother, congratulating herself on her small victory. That was something in itself. Inglor's methods might, as he claimed, ensure the survival of his allies, but she would rather not buy her life at the price of her conscience.

---(Scene Break)---

Imoen, Inglor reflected wryly, was always one for diplomacy. She always tried to persuade him to accept her point of view. Jaheira would have just ordered him not to go after Westrane, relying on the rectitude of her own wisdom to add weight to the fierce glares that always cleared the way for her. Jaheira – the thought of her fate still brought him deep sadness. He had not allowed himself any time to grieve for her death. Events had forced him to focus on other matters. Inglor had no dreams and no illusions – he was always cold, cynical and practical. But Jaheira had been so different – she believed in balance, in harmony and in righting wrongs. She believed in freedom. She was one of the few who could stand up to him for her own beliefs, and come out victorious. Her sternness had always been tinged with compassion. She would have told him that his actions were incorrect, that he would make more enemies, that such torture and murder were incompatible with any decent elf and that he should therefore not go after Westrane no matter what material considerations supported his view. And now, she was gone, thanks to his cursed heritage, and he could not even kneel at her grave. Her murderers were still alive and around and free. "See you now, Jaheira," whispered Inglor to the world, "wherefore restraint, gentleness and courtesy are all usually wasted on our enemies. Had I been more decisive, had I simply killed Vyrn when he befriended Aerie to spy on us, you would had been alive today. What I would give to have you back at my side, my old friend! It is to my failure to act ruthlessly that you owe your death, and your murderers still run free. Yet, not long shall they have their freedom if I have aught to say about it." It struck him as particularly ironical that the very people whom he was striving to protect would plead for mercy for their own enemies, foes who often used the very mercy to strike them down. Jaheira would have lectured him that it was wrong to act brutally, that it was for the law to take its own course – the law, when its upholders could be bought with a handful of coins, and when judges and inspectors sold themselves like the worst sluts off the streets of Calimport – and the importance of not making more enemies than was necessary. There was something in the latter suggestion, but it had to be evaluated as a matter of policy than from a desperate need to feel morally superior to one's foes. And it was always innocents and his friends and allies that paid the price for such mercy to his foes. And now, his sister had managed to get his word that he would not strike at Westrane, even when he knew that it was the prudent course of action. "Those that are gentle to the cruel often end up being cruel to the gentle. A folly," sighed Inglor, shaking his head, "for which we may pay dearly." He was still engaged in his brown study, when his second-in-command in the City Anmol, rapped on the door of his office.

"Guildmaster," interrupted Anmol, bursting In on his superior's brown study. "We've received word that the Westranes are willing to exchange Zaeron for those we have."

"So soon?" murmured Inglor in some surprise. "I wonder now ...".

"They want to make the exchange as soon as possible. They propose this evening. Only two people present from either side, apart from the hostages."

Inglor considered the development for a long moment. There was something strange about this. He had expected that they would try to spin things until they had squeezed all the information from Zaeron. Had Zaeron broken so fast? That was unlikely. There was something more to it, but it was unlikely that he would find out. Finally, he raised his head. "Go ahead and make the exchange. Selina, Imoen and I will be in the neighbourhood, to make sure it is not another ambush."

As his subordinate turned to leave, Inglor added, "By the way, have a priest standing by. If I am not mistaken, Zaeron will need a healer's attentions quickly."

---(Author's Note)---

Do go ahead and try to guess who the `woman' is and who her ally. They both figure prominently in the story.

By the way, Zaeron and Selina are both from the Chosen of Cyric component of the `Rogue Rebalancing Mod'. I encourage everyone to go ahead and give it a try. It is a very well conceived and executed mod.


	6. Insurrection

**Bhaalspawn Union – 6**

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate, or the Forgotten Realms, or anything else. They all belong to Bioware, TSR, WotC, etc. I am just playing in the world created by them. As usual, all criticism is welcome.

**Insurrection**

"The situation for the City is none too easy, Your Majesty," commented Elhan, as he seated himself on the seat proferred by the queen. "The guardian, Adalon, is gone. While the drow are in no position to attack for the moment, nor will they be for some more years to come, they can recuperate faster than we can." A meeting was being held in the queen's sitting room and five people were part of the meeting. The queen herself, Lady Ysinnel, General Sovalidass, Elhan and the High Priestess, Demin comprised the constituents of the meeting convened.

"Have there been any more attacks at the temple?" queried Demin, from her slouched position at the far end of the table. She still walked with stiff limbs – her recovery from the attack by Irenicus had been slow, and she had come within an inch of death when she had battled the Exile's rakshasa minions.

"A few small patrols are probing our defences now and then, but I think it is more to ensure that the Guardian is gone than to really test our defences." replied Elhan. "If the words of the Bhaalspawn are true, they are hardly in any case to fight us."

"And how do you know the Bhaalspawn spoke the truth?" queried Yssinel, in a carefully neutral tone.

"We subjected him to the truth ritual when he as questioned, milady. Our best sages saw no lies in his words," returned Elhan.

Yssinel looked for a moment as if she wanted to question the competence of the sages of Suldanessellar who were interrogating a Bhaalspawn, but she held her tongue.

Ellesime answered Yssinel's unspoken question quietly, "Inglor had no reason to lie about the drow – he fought them, and from the svirfneblin whom my agents have questioned since, we have learnt that there has been indeed a large vacuum of power in Ust Natha, coinciding with his stay in the City." She looked around at her audience for a long moment, before deciding to spring another piece of appalling news on them. She continued wearily, "But that aside, Suldanessellar is in serious peril of failing even without the drow threat."

"How so?" the question had come from the surprised elven general.

"The mythal," replied the Queen, in the same sad tone. "It has been seriously damaged. Yssinel and I spent the day assessing ways to repair the destruction caused. There is a good chance that we will not be able to completely restore it." While Ellesime herself was quite capable of elven high magic, she was not an expert in the field. Consequently, she had sent to Evermeet for help and her prayers for help had been answered surprisingly quickly in the form of Lady Yssinel Amaranthine, a powerful elven high mage, who had been sent to help her with the mythal. Lady Yssinel, who specialised in the knowledge of mythals, had gladly agreed to assist and had arrived in Suldanessellar only the day before.

"How serious is the damage, Your Majesty?"

The queen looked at the specialist, who answered for her. "Extensive," responded Lady Yssinel. "It has been attacked by life draining magics twice within a few decades. Mythallar magic is very slow in healing, Captain Elhan. We have been doing what we can, but there is only so much we can do, considering the extent of the damage. Hopefully, we should be able to replenish it sufficiently."

Ellesime reclined in her chair and murmured, "We need to find a new guardian – a powerful entity who can fight the drow on their terms – or we are done for."

Yssinel spoke neutrally, "Very few dragons, even metallic will agree to sit and guard the egress from a drow city for all time."

Ellesime nodded with that assessment – after all, she had worked so long and hard to win Adalon's confidence, and agreement to guard the tunnels. Finding another dragon was all but impossible. However, she had a germ of an idea. One, if it succeeded, might well compensate for the loss of Adalon. However, she spoke aloud, "I think that concludes our meeting. I shall wish you all a very good evening. Elhan, if you would remain for a minute."

As they all rose, Sovalidass queried, "Your Majesty, may I venture a question?"

As Ellesime looked at him questioningly, he spoke, "Has the Hellspawn left the City with his remaining lackey?"

Ellesime's deep green eyes flashed fire, but she spoke quietly enough, "I will thank you, General, to refrain from referring to Inglor as a Hellspawn. He has earned the gratitude of the City. I will remind you that had it not been for him, all of us would be dead ere now. And as for his whereabouts, they are his own concern."

Sovalidass bowed as if suitably chastised, and quietly turned and opened the door. To the surprise of everyone else, he barked, "Soldiers, make ready!"

Immediately, a dozen soldiers burst in through the door, their weapons bared and ready, and the general himself drew a longsword from beneath his cloak. "Treachery", breathed Demin and Elhan together, and Elhan drew his own blade, only to find himself frozen and unable to move a muscle, trapped in a spell that had been cast wordlessly at him from behind. From the corner of his eyebrows, he saw that Demin had been caught similarly in the archmage's spell, and only the queen had escaped the first assault that had surprised all of them.

The queen had felt the magic that had trapped Elhan bounce off her own shield that she had erected the instant the treachery had become apparent. Ellesime turned round in shock to face this unexpected adversary, but Yssinel was already chanting her next spell. The powerful elven high mage sent a powerful dispelling magic at the daughter of Rillifane, shattering her shield and Ellesime leapt back, barely avoiding the treacherous general's blade, her awkward actions spoiling her own counterspell against Yssinel. A stunning spell from Yssinel caught the queen as she stumbled backwards, freezing her too, ending the short battle.

The treasonous high mage drew a pair of lockets from her robes and with a smile, affixed them at the queen's and Demin's throat. The second it had been put on her, the queen knew what it was. A dead magic locket, which would create a sphere of dead magic around it. With no access to her magic, she and Demin were both helpless – it was only suicide to try to face off alone against the general and all his soldiers. She tried to take the necklace off, but failed and seeing her failure, Yssinel laughed coldly, "It is useless, your Majesty. You cannot take it off." The queen closed her eyes for a moment in frustration, and then turning to the general, drew herself to her full height and demanded, "What does this mean, General Sovalidass?"

Her once-general did not answer until all the three captives had been disarmed and bound securely by his soldiers. Then the general gave her a wolfish smile and replied softly, "I am afraid that Her Majesty's decisions to investigate and sentence elves over a Hellspawn and his lackeys cannot be ... seen as encouraging. Your Majesty has brought naught but misery on this City, first through her actions regarding the Exile, and now regarding this Hellspawn. Any further of your mistakes, and I fear there will be no City for you to rule, or for us to live in." Then drawing himself up, he spoke formally, "Ellesime, daughter of Rillifane, I charge you and your associates, Elhan, and Demin with bringing untold misery on this city and seeking to endanger it with your mad policies. Therefore, tonight, we shall relieve you of your duties."

Demin sniffed sardonically, "In the meantime, I suppose you will handle the affairs of this city in our stead?"

The traitorous elf bowed mockingly, "My soldiers and many others on the Council have done me the honour of requesting me to run the city. I hope to do better than my predecessors and will definitely avoid following the precedent set by my 'illustrious queen'. Now if you will please follow me."

Elhan demanded, "Where are you taking us?"

The general smiled, "There is a convenient island on the Suldanesse with an old, unused prison barely a day's march from here. This prison has had the honour of hosting some great dignitaries of Tethyr during the civil war, but never has it been graced by an elven queen, I fear. Many in the prison will be delighted to share your august company."

Ellesime turned to Yssinel, "Does Evermeet approve of your actions here?"

The high mage smiled coldly, "What they don't know won't hurt them."

The Queen continued thoughtfully, "Your appeared almost too quickly after I sent the plea for help. I imagine you were already in the area. Why were you here? Were you monitoring the situation? Have you been planning this action for long? Or were you interested in.." The queen caught herself before saying Joneleth. She paused, before continuing, "Were you interested in Irenicus?"

"My reasons and actions are my own." The icily disdainful voice from the high mage made it clear that there was no use questioning her.

The general's soldiers nudged the queen to move with their spears and Ellesime looked in contempt at Sovalidaas, and prophesied, "Your oaths of faith to me you may break, but I must hold my bond. And yet if there are any that have not fallen under the shadow of this madness, your life in this city will not be easy and I shall find a few elves who will support me. Tell me, did you arrange the deaths of Inglor's companions?"

The general smiled, although it was tinged with more than a hint of tightness. "Your Majesty would do well to focus on things that are of import to her. Neither that hellspawn, nor his toadies are of any consequence to you. They will get their due soon enough."

Under the menace of the weapons of the general's soldiers, there was nothing to be done but to follow the instructions of their friends-turned-foes. Ellesime, Elhan and Demin were hooded to conceal their identities and marched out in silence to the river by a quiet byway, where there were usually few people. The soldiers of Sovalidass were in the streets and had ordered everyone to stay away from their paths under some pretext.

Soon the party consisting of the treacherous general, his soldiers and their captives reached a small lighter, and Ellesime and her two associates were forced into the hold. As soon as the hatch of the hold was shut, the general gave orders to his soldiers. "Carry out the second phase of the operation. Remember, my brave soldiers, the future of the elves is in our hands. We cannot afford to make a mistake here or to be led astray by emotions. Carry out your work and be sure that history will remember our actions as those that saved the elves of Tethyr from destruction."

The general was conscious that his troops looked none too happy, and added, "Listen, my friends. We are working against a self-absorbed queen who twice failed to protect us. To gain her passion's petty ends, she exposed us to the Shattered One's attacks. Now she endangers us all by failing to recognise the dangers posed by the Hellspawn. Removing a parasite is a great service we shall be doing the elves. Fear nothing and carry out your orders. You shall all be rewarded well."

The elven guards finally bowed and the boat was set adrift. They unfurled the sails and after a couple of hours they had traversed a few miles downstream. The general's soldiers abandoned the lighter and moved into a lifeboat. Immediately, they began to work on the port side of the original craft with hammers and axes. With the crash of the axes and hammers against the planking of the boat came horrified comprehension to the three captives. They were not being taken away to be imprisoned, but would be drowned in the Suldanesse - the boat would be sunk and it would look an accident. The general had planned this very carefully - they had to hand him that. With Elhan, Demin and Ellesime dead, the most senior and powerful remaining officer was the general himself - and he would probably be asked to accept the position of the Kingship of Suldanessellar by the Council. Yssinel would be around to put her own stamp of approval – and by implication, that of Evermeet, even if they knew nothing of her actions.

However, there was no time to be lost and Ellesime snapped out her orders, "Demin, help me untie Elhan. He is the best hope for success. Elhan, sit still."

She and Demin immediately went to work on the ropes that bound Elhan's hands with their teeth. It was hard work, but fortunately, the lighter was also made of hard, seasoned wood and did not crack immediately under the axes of the general's soldiers. After several minutes of hard work, Elhan's bonds gave way and he untied the other two. By now, there were a dozen gaping holes in the side of the lighter and water was gushing in. Elhan tried to utilise one of the holes made by the soldiers to escape, but outside, on the lifeboat were the general's troops wielding swords and bows now. With curses, they slashed and fired at Elhan's hands as he tried to widen the holes to escape and a lucky shot transfixed him through the throat. He gave a choking gasp and collapsed on the muddy floor of the boat's hold.

In the meantime, Ellesime and Demin were fighting to open the locked hatch. It was a useless task and both of them merely succeeding in breaking their nails, achieving little besides. The boat shifted violently as it began to sink and the lifeboat carrying the general's troops moved away finally from the ship, intent on escaping the vortex which would be generated by the sinking craft.

Meanwhile, in the hold of the doomed ship, Ellesime was flung against one of the crossbeams and held on to it. For a moment, water passed over her head, but then it came to settle around the height of her shoulder. The elven queen was quick to realise what had happened - the lighter had gone down by the prow on a shallow, and the stern remained protruding. Between the level of the water and the roof of the hold, there was a foot - perhaps a foot and half of clear space. Yet of the two priestesses, she was the only one to profit by this extraordinary chance. She screamed herself hoarse for Demin to do likewise, but the only answer was the ghostly echo of her own voice in the sepulchral hold of the ship. Later on, it would be discovered that the older priestess had hit her head on one of the bulkheads during the convulsions generated by the sinking boat and had drowned, being knocked unconscious by the blow.

For four hours, Ellesime floated amid the bodies of Demin and Elhan. The water of the Suldanesse, coming from the glaciers on the Starspire mountains was bitterly cold and freezing in this early winter. A woman of less vigorous mettle, physical or moral, would never have survived this ordeal of the long immersion among the corpses in the icy waters of the eddying river, but she hung on grimly and hoping against hope that someone would notice the partly sunken ship and help her.

Just after daybreak, her faint hopes received a boost. As the first streaks of daylight suffused the water, a sound of voices and the soft noise of oars dipping in the water reached her ears - a fishing boat was passing by. Ellesime screamed for help. The rowing ceased on the fishing boat and the elven queen screamed again. This time she was answered and soon she heard the oars on the fishing craft working at double speed - finally, it was alongside her own craft. Blows of a grapnel tore at the planking as the lighter was firmly grasped in the tentacles of the other craft. Simultaneously the priestess was conscious of the noise of feet on the decks above. A few minutes later, there was a hole large enough to admit a body, and a rope was tossed down to her. Thoroughly numbed, she grasped it convulsively and the men on the other craft heaved her up. But racial prejudices in Tethyr are strong and seeing that she was an elf, they put her ashore and would do no more for her.

Thoroughly drained in mind and body, Ellesime nearly collapsed on the rough forest floor, teeth chattering from the cold, and at her wits' end what to do. The grief at losing her two best friends, ravaged her spirit and left her with a feeling of emptiness that made her wish for a moment that she was also lying with Elhan and Demin in their last silent resting place. However, her active spirit shook off the lethargy that springs from despair and she struggled beneath the protection of a rock, carefully pondering her own options. There was a major choice she had to make – whether she should return to Suldanessellar or not.

Returning to Suldanessellar carried with it a major peril – her appearance there would definitely spark off a civil war. It was very clear to her that her opponents had some serious support, and worse yet, she did not know who all the plotters were. Suldanessellar was already on the brink of failing and any more deaths would inevitably push it over. The more she thought of it, the more it was clear to her that she was unjustified in an action that could well doom the city she loved. Furthermore, she did not know how to remove the necklace that prevented her from using her magic. To have her citizens see her in such a pitiable state was worse than death to her. It was far better to be hated than to be pitied. Finally, the deaths of both Elhan and Demin hung heavy over her mind and the last thing she wanted was to go to a place where she would be reminded of them, day in and day out. She needed time to recuperate from her travails. She needed the freedom to act to assess her own situation among the elves. Neither would be possible if she returned to her City. For the time being, Suldanessellar would be safe. That would have to do. She would have to relinquish any thoughts of regaining her throne immediately.

If she didn't go back to Suldanessellar, the question was where she could go. Remaining in the Tethyran wilderness was a perilous enterprise, particularly without her magic. Ellesime did not relish having to fight off any wild beasts, or worse, Tethyran elf haters with a bow or a blade, neither of which she possessed at the moment, anyway. She considered – the general would doubtless raise the alarm over her disappearance the next day. They would search for her – or her assailants would pretend to search for her. In a few days at most, they would `find' the sunken lighter and discover there only the bodies of Elhan and Demin. They would figure out that she had escaped and begin looking for her discreetly. Yssinel would use her divinations, and in her magic inhibited state, Ellesime had no way of evading her scrying. Consequently, the queen had, at best, only a few days to make her way to a safe place.

There was no elven settlement of any consequence nearby – not enough to hide her from the scrying eyes of Yssinel once the search began. There was only one place close by where she might – just might – find help. Zazesspur was two days march away for her, if she kept up a quick pace, and she hoped to find Inglor, who had told her he would be there for a few days, and who was probably the only one in the area who could help her. But would he offer her shelter? Or would he hand her back to her enemies? No – the latter was unlikely, considering that her enemies were more inveterate foes of the Bhaalspawn himself. But would he aid her – that was the next question she needed to answer. What could she offer him to secure his assistance? What did Inglor want, anyway? A slow smile lit her lips. The latter question she could answer. The gold elven Bhaalspawn longed for acceptance, a circle in which he would not be feared or hated. She had seen it in his eyes, faint and masked, even perhaps subconscious, though it had been. After all, elves were communal creatures and most of their powers came from their connection to the weave and to one another. It was, therefore, not too surprising that Inglor too desired – nay, needed – that. The Bhaalspawn had gone out out of his way to aid the citizens of Suldanessellar because he wanted them to accept him for who he was, not reject him for what he was. When the elves had rejected him, in part for his heritage and in part for his lack of practical knowledge of elven culture and society, he had been hurt bitterly. He had hidden both his desire for acceptance and his bitterness at the rejection very well, but Ellesime had seen it in him. She could repay both his assistance to her city and herself by teaching him what he dearly wanted. She would teach him to be an elf.

---(Author's Notes)---

In Forgotten Realms canon, elven high magic is limited to mages of level 17 and more – they also have to be more than 450 years in age, but that is a side issue, for I think Ellesime is easily older than that. Elven high magic is what is used in the generation of mythals. Baldur's Gate canon states that Ellesime is a 16th level magic user (although the game .cre files show that she is a cleric, not a mage). I am making a change and assuming that she is a cleric/mage who has access to elven high magic. The number of levels is a gameplay device and is hardly of any consequence in real life. It strikes me as likely that the daughter of one of the Seldarine would have access to elven high magic, which is, to quote Forgotten Realms canon, `the very essence of elvenness'. This change from Shadows of Amn canon is necessary for my story, and in any case, it hardly contravenes any real plot points in the Shadows of Amn.

The idea for my present chapter comes from an event during the French revolution, where the Citizen representative Jean Baptiste Carrier had prisoners in the city of Nantes drowned in the Loire to sate his bloodlust. His actions caused even the hardened Revolutionary Council to flinch in horror.

Finally, Ellesime is not going to be Inglor's romance interest in the story. There will be no romance with her for two reasons. First – Inglor does not really have a romantic side – he rarely speaks of the softer passions without a gibe or a sneer. Second – Ellesime is just recovering from the damage her own love for Joneleth caused. She would be unlikely to fall in love with a Bhaalspawn who is as manipulative as any on Toril.

Thanks to Abstract Error for her help with the story.


	7. Favours

**Bhaalspawn Union – 7**

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate or the Forgotten Realms. I am just playing in the world created by TSR, WotC, Bioware and others.

**Favours**

Inglor sipped his tea quietly, silent and composed. Imoen and Selina, were far less tranquil. The former continually drummed her fingers on the tea table, while the latter paced around in circles. All three of them were waiting for the healer to emerge from the chamber where Zaeron had been brought.

The exchange between the two groups had proceeded smoothly, with no attempts at treachery from the Westranes. Zaeron, supported by two Westrane guards, had been brought to the place of exchange and had been handed over to Inglor's subordinates, while the Westrane guards took charge of the hostages that Inglor had taken the previous day. Soon after Zaeron had been returned, the half-elf had collapsed in an epileptic fit. Inglor had rushed a priest of Mask to aid his subordinate, and now the trio – Inglor, Selina and Imoen were awaiting the report of the priest who was examining the injured infiltrator.

"Do sit down, Selina," murmured Inglor. "You won't make things any better for Zaeron by wearing out the carpet."

Selina opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, there was a knock on the door. "Enter," called Inglor. Anmol appeared in the doorway. "Sorry to disturb, guildmaster, but there is something ya should hear. An elf girl's been asking round for ya. Half a dozen taverns, she's asked in. Paid the owners handsomely and promised them more if they find ya for her."

"Interesting," murmured Inglor. "Who's she?"

"She calls herself Aravae. We know nothing else 'bout her."

"Where is she now?"

"She's staying at the White Unicorn."

Inglor remained silent for a long moment and then sighed. "Thanks for the information, Anmol." As his second in command left, Inglor rose to his feet. "Selina, keep watch here over Zaeron. Imoen and I'll have a look at this woman who wants to find me."

---(Scene Break)---

Having approached The White Unicorn, Inglor, with a few waves of his hand altered his attire to the uniform of Zaranda's imperial guards and his appearance to that of a human. The illusion spell Inglor had placed on himself could be broken by a high level mage or a sufficiently accomplished thief, but the gold elf felt reasonably certain that the innkeeper would be neither. He rapped on the door authoritatively.

The first two knocks went unanswered, and finally, on the third knock, the door opened slightly and a bleary eyed lad of fifteen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, peered out. "Who's there?"

From his place deep in the shadows, Inglor eyed the boy with disfavour, determining who he was, as he returned icily, "Night workers should sleep in daytime. Get the owner of the inn, boy, and at once!"

"The owner at this time of the night?!" The boy's voice held barely concealed insolence. "Come back tomorrow!" The truculence in the voice was unmistakable.

There was a sound of ripping linen, and a gasp of pain, as Inglor had hauled the boy by the bunched folds of the front of his shirt, while stepping himself into the light, letting it beat down upon his uniform. In his free hand, almost magically, a long dagger had appeared no more than a few inches away from the boy's eyes, but it was the hilt he exhibited to the boy – the pommel gem was a midnight black pearl – the sign of the Order of the Dagger, Queen Zaranda's most trusted guards, who were famed for handling dangerous situations with ruthless efficiently, quietly and without fuss. The Order and its symbol were well known throughout Tethyr, and well feared, for lawkeepers have often to command not only respect, but also fear. Inglor, seeing the utility of these black pearl daggers, had managed to buy one for himself. It was, after all, a superb means of eliciting cooperation from people and Inglor was not one to forego such a useful trinket.

The boy's eyes widened first with surprise at first and then terror. Inglor let the boy gaze upon the dagger for a long instant, After a few moments' stillness, the gold elf sent the boy staggering backward with a contemptuous shove. As the lad was frantically scrambling to keep his balance, the Bhaalspawn pushed the door open and demanded softly, "Who else did you expect to come calling at this hour of the night?"

The boy stammered, "No one, m'lord! No one!"

"Cease your stammering and fetch the owner!" Inglor's cold, soft, peremptory tone left no latitude for the boy, who positively fled down aisle.

"Quite a performance," murmured Imoen, in his ear. "You had even me scared!"

"Just practice," chuckled Inglor mirthlessly. "It does them no harm and it does us no harm either."

A couple of minutes later there was a shuffling and a heavy set man appeared, hurrying towards his nocturnal visitors, shrugging a leather jacket over his nightshirt. "A million apologies, m'lord. A million apologies. This fool here ..."

Inglor cut in coldly, "You are the owner of the inn?"

"Yes, yes, of course ..."

"Then dismiss the fool. I wish to speak to you privately."

Inglor and Imoen had seated themselves in front of the desk, pointing to the owner to sit before them. Inglor, prominently displaying the hilt of his black pearl dagger, coolly used it to clean his nails, paying minute attention to his trivial task. He continued his work for nearly two minutes, saying nothing at all, all the while the radiating an aura of chilling indifference to his supposed interlocutor. A masterful performance, Imoen reflected dispassionately. The owner, already on tenterhooks by the appearance of the dreaded Order of the Dagger in his inn, was almost in violent hysterics now. "What's it, m'lord? What's gone wrong?" In his anxiety, he was wringing his hands, the white knuckles easily visible. "If I can help, ...."

"When you speak, it will only be to answer my questions." Inglor had not even raised his voice, but his soft deadly whisper had the lash of a whip, and the owner flinched as if he had been slapped. "In your inn, you have a guest who arrived tonight. An elven woman."

"Yes, yes, of course. She arrived only this evening. I was just drawing the shades ..."

"Only to answer my questions," repeated Inglor softly, and the man gulped and went silent. Inglor continued, "She asked for the notorious dog, Inglor Starym. She paid you some gold and promised you more if you should assist her."

"M'lord, I assure you ..."

"I shall assure myself. Where is her room?"

"Down the corridor. Second on the left, m'lord," gasped the owner, pointing in the direction of the room.

"Keys!" demanded Inglor, and the terrified innkeeper withdrew a key from the drawer of his desk and handed it to the gold elf.

"You will stay here and my colleague shall keep you company. For your own safety, of course." The latter was uttered with such sarcasm that even Imoen looked askance at her brother. However, Inglor took no further heed of either, and rising cat like from his chair, walked towards the room the terrified man had indicated.

With both physical and arcane senses at their peak, Inglor carefully examined the door of the room. There was no magic on it, nor were there any traps, He unlocked the door noiselessly and carefully tested the doorknob. It swung open slightly before encountering resistance. Something heavy – probably the dressing table – had been placed just behind the door to prevent it from being opened and surprising the inhabitant. With a mild chuckle, Inglor let his awareness flow over both the door and that which lay beyond, letting his arcane senses guide his work. With a wave of his hand, he vanished both the door and the dresser, immediately moving inside. A single elven woman had been sitting at the table, leaning her head on her elbow. Feeling a wave of magic at the door of her room, she gave a cry of surprise and plucked a dagger from her belt, but Inglor was already moving. He had crossed the room to the woman in three long steps and his vice like grip clamped down on her wrist, while pushing her forward. She shrieked in terror as she fell to the ground, and felt her attacker land on her back, driving the breath out of her lungs. She tried to free herself and in her struggles, her hair fell back to reveal her face to the elven Bhaalspawn.

"Queen Ellesime!" muttered Inglor, letting go of her and taking a step back in stupefaction.

"Who are you, sir?!" demanded the queen. "And how dare you intrude thus and manhandle me?" Outraged majesty rang in her every syllable. It was clear that Inglor was on the parade ground, a court-martialled officer about to be stripped of insignia and have his sword broken over a knee.

"Inglor Starym," returned Inglor quietly, having recovered his composure in the brief time. From beneath his transformed uniform, he drew the _Amulet of the Seldarine _at his throat and held it to her inspection. He continued, "My apologies, your Majesty," murmured Inglor. "Nevertheless, I must make sure you are who you appear to be. What did you tell me when you last spoke to me near the Tree of Life?"

The queen gazed at him for a long moment, and then answered, "I told you that I had nothing to do with the murder of his companions, and offered you all assistance in finding the killers. I also told you that if you found the killers, you should execute your justice on them, if you could not bring them back to Suldanessellar for a trial."

Inglor lowered his blade and bowed in respect to the queen. "I'm sorry for my ... precautions, but I had to be sure who you were. " He remained silent for a moment and then he spoke, "The first thing is to get you out of here to a safe place. For that, we need to do ..."

---(Scene Break)---

A few minutes later, Inglor emerged from the room, nudging Ellesime before him with his blade. The queen's hood was dropped over her face, concealing it, and her hands were pinioned securely behind her back.

Imoen and the innkeeper were still waiting where he had left them. Inglor addressed the owner of the inn in his soft, deadly voice, "This elf bitch is a dangerous spy, and you were harbouring her in your inn. She wants to get in contact with a notorious criminal, and you don't inform the guards, but send word to the Harpers! To our knowledge, this is the third time you have sheltered enemies of the country in the last six months. I wonder if a little ... re-education about your priorities is in order. To teach you to value your motherland more than a handful of coins!"

"M'lord! M'lord! I didn't know ..." Babbling incoherently, the innkeeper had sunk to his knees in front of Inglor. "One chance, m'lord!"

"What did you tell the Harpers, exactly?" Inglor's voice had come like a bolt of lightning.

"I told them an elf woman was looking for Inglor, m'lord. That's be all, I swears!"

Inglor let the silence hang for a long moment, and the innkeeper fell once more to pleading heavily for his life. Finally, Inglor spoke, freezing power in every syllable, "My instructions will be followed to the letter, followed implicitly. If there is any failure, no matter how unavoidable, you will be held personally responsible for it. You understand?" The man nodded frantically, and Inglor continued, "If anyone comes asking for her, you know nothing. There never was an elven woman here. You have not seen her! And you have not seen us!"

"Yes, yes, m'lord," babbled the owner, grateful that he was escaping without any more hurt. "It shall be as you says!"

"I have my rare moments of generosity. Warn that fool of a boy to hold his tongue." Disregarding the babbled thanks from the innkeeper, he remarked disdainfully from the door, "You may yet live to mulct a few more customers!" With that, Inglor and Imoen departed from the inn with their `prisoner'.

---(Scene Break)---

A few minutes later, Inglor, Imoen and Ellesime had returned to his Guildhall in the City. Selina was awaiting him in his office, pacing around impatiently. Inglor inquired, "What news of Zaeron, Selina?"

When she saw them, she burst out, "Ah – there you are! Well, the priest left." Selina's voice trembled, as she continued, "He could heal most of Zaeron's physical injuries, but the mind is badly damaged. He rambles on strangely and I can't make sense out of it."

"What did the priest think had happened to his mind?"

"The idiot doesn't know," growled Selina. "He'd the guts to ask me if Zaeron was ever bright. I threw a vase at him and he ran!"

Inglor could well picture the scene between Selina and the priest in his mind and stifled a chuckle. Outwardly, however, he held up his hand, "That priest is clearly out of his depths. Maybe we should find a better one." He turned round to look at Ellesime, but the queen stood back, almost abashed. Inglor had felt a strange aura of lifelessness around her, but had not had the time to question or investigate it. The gold elf, deciding not to press her about the matter, continued, "Very well, Selina. We'll find a better priest for Zaeron first thing tomorrow. Go now and rest. You are not going to help him or yourself by staying awake uselessly."

She nodded and left, while Inglor, Imoen and Ellesime adjourned to Inglor's office. Inglor himself brewed tea for all three and as they sat sipping the tea, Ellesime asked, "How did you find me?"

"When your Majesty went round the city's inns asking for information about my whereabouts, your interest was brought to my notice. I knew you were staying in the White Unicorn, because a chambermaid there is one of my informers."

"And the Tethyran uniforms? And insignia?"

"The uniforms are courtesy my own spellwork. It is a trivial illusion spell. Th e insignia I purchased."

"You managed to purchase the insignia of the Royal guards?!" Surprise was stamped on the usually composed features of the Queen.

"The whole world is a mart, your Majesty," sighed Inglor "All things are for sale to him that bids the highest in the currency of our desires."

The bitter wisdom of the gold elf jarred upon the queen. Focussing on the present, she questioned, "What was that about the Harpers? And how did you know?"

"The innkeeper of the White Unicorn is a low grade fence. He sells everything – including information – to whoever pays him sufficiently. The Harpers have been investigating me rather closely in the last few weeks. I simply decided to bluff him that I knew he had sold the information of your interest in me to the Harpers. Had he been innocent, he would have protested. As it was, he was guilty and believing me to have knowledge of his guilt, he dared not do that."

Ellesime digested what Inglor had told her. Then she proceeded to fill him on what had been happening in Suldanessellar since he had left with his sister. Halfway through her story, her voice shook with emotion and sorrow. Imoen put a comforting arm around the shoulders of the divine daughter of Rillifane, while Inglor poured her a glass of elven feywine. However, the queen continued with an effort, and as her story unfolded, Imoen's face reflected true horror and her grip on the queen's shoulder was almost painful. Inglor remained his emotionless self, saying little save throwing in a question or two, his cold, passionless eyes merely looking inquisitive, while his mind was absorbing every word, filing it away in his mind, trying to distinguish the dynamics of the problem.

When she had finished, Imoen murmured, "I am sorry, sorry for Elhan and Demin. Sorry you have lost so much because of us!"

"Worry not, child," murmured Ellesime almost soothingly to the distraught girl. "I do not hold either of you responsible for the misfortune that has befallen me or my kith. The Seldarine watch over us. It was their grace that guided us to safety and it shall be their will that shall wreak vengeance on the cowardly murderers!"

Inglor murmured, "It is difficult to see what we can do about Suldanessellar for the moment. However, we have a more immediate problem. That dead magic necklace of yours. With your permission, I should like to examine it." With the acquiescence of the queen, Inglor finished his inspection, and dropping back into his chair, he intoned quietly. "That amulet explains why I have been feeling the lifelessness near you. But that is of little essence – we can remove the accursed amulet and restore your access to the Weave easily."

"You can remove the dead magic amulet?" queried the astonished Ellesime.

"Quite easily. That amulet is a very tricky bit of enchantment. It is magical itself, but projects a dead magic zone from it, so any spell that would break its hold on you will be blocked by the dead magic zone, since no magic can travel across it. But using a _Wish _spell, we can eliminate the dead magic zone itself. After that, we should be easily able to remove the spell that is affixing the necklace to you. Both my sister and myself are capable of casting _Wish_ spells. In fact, Imoen has one memorised right away and she should be able to restore your access to the Weave."

"You – you would expend a _Wish_ for me?" stuttered the completely flummoxed Ellesime. "But you get a _Wish _only once a year!"

"Your situation is sufficiently dire that I consider that _Wish _spent wisely." When the queen looked at him questioningly, he nodded, "Elves are meant to be attuned to the Weave, your Majesty. I understand enough that the disruption of the link could have unpleasant consequences and it is not anything I would wish on another elf. More importantly, I am grateful to you for your help." He did not add that he felt guilty that his presence had caused such devastation in Suldanessellar, even after Irenicus had fallen at his hand.

The queen looked at him for a long moment and murmured, "I am thankful for your help and you will not find me ungrateful. If I can do anything to aid you, I will."

---(Scene Break)---

Ellesime emerged from the sick room where Zaeron had been confined. The two Bhaalspawn had removed the dead magic amulet on the queen and restored her magic. It was the breath of life to her and after a long time, she had been able to feel herself returning to normal once more. After her magic had been restored, Inglor had requested her if she would mind examining one of his men who had been injured, and thus Ellesime had consented to aiding Zaeron with her formidable healing skills.

Inglor had been standing in the outer room, his hands crossed across his chest, staring silently into the roaring fire that warmed the room. Ellesime cleared her throat, and Inglor looked up at the queen questioningly. She began, "That man, Zaeron. What was he doing before he ended up like this?"

Inglor looked for a long moment at the queen, and then explained the task he had set Zaeron, how the infiltrator had fallen into the hands of his enemies and been tortured, and finally how he had been returned to the gold elf. The queen nodded slowly, "It all fits. The half elf has suffered brutal inquisition. His mind has been assaulted by both spells and psionics."

"Psionics, your Majesty?" Inglor was startled.

"Aye – and if I were to guess at the source of the psionics, I would say it was an illithid who did it!"

If the former had startled the Bhaalspawn, this statement completely flummoxed him. How did an illithid come to interrogate Zaeron? Just who was interested in the Bhaalspawn? All this he could gather only after Zaeron recovered – if Zaeron recovered, in fact. Voicing the latter thought, Inglor questioned, "Can he be restored?"

Ellesime spread her hands in a gesture of doubt. "I don't know. I have treated cases of illithid damage before, but success is never guaranteed. It requires other psionic healers to completely undo the damage done by psionic interrogators."

Inglor smiled at that. "I am very grateful to your Majesty for that information. Now that we know the source of the damage, we can undo it. I have access to some of the best psionic healers in the multiverse."

"Who do you mean? Illithid are not friendly healers!"

"Quite true. But there are other psionic beings. And I know just where to find them!"

---(Author's Notes)---

Try to guess who you would call if you wanted to heal illithid related mind damage. Who are the greatest enemies of the illithid and how would one go about accessing them?

Coming up next – some discussion of the political situation, and some plans for the future.


	8. Past Imperfect, Future Tense

**Bhaalspawn Union – 8**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All the characters belong to Bioware, and WotC. I am just playing in the world created by them.

**Past Imperfect, Future Tense**

Inglor drew a silver medallion he wore beneath his robes. For all that it appeared akin to a plain silver coin, it was really unique. Delicate runes were etched on the emblem, not in a row as was usual for runes that most races employed, but in a clockwise fashion. If one looked closely, one would observe runes were actually letters in tir'su1.

Understanding flashed across Ellesime's face. She queried, "Where did you get that Girhyanki medallion?"

"I got it from a Gith swordstalker I was able to do a favour once," returned Inglor quietly.

Ellesime was intrigued. Gith swordstalkers rarely returned favours and certainly not out of the kindness of their hearts. Her eyes spoke the words that her tongue would not.

There was a limpid smile on Inglor's face. "A long story. Suffice to say that they will do odd favours for me. Besides, I have something to trade for their assistance with Zaeron."

As his medallion warmed, the image of an almost skeletal humanoid, with a heavy plumed helmet formed before them. As they waited, the image spoke addressing Inglor, "What is it this time, elf? Have you found another silver sword piece? And are you going to send me to the Sahuagin to retrieve it?"

"Greetings Simyaz!" returned Inglor gravely. As for your question, the answer is no. But I have found something of much more importance to you. An illithid plot to seed a nest beneath Athkatla."

The githyanki looked skeptical. "And how do you come to know of this plot?"

"Two of your order were in Athkatla a few weeks ago, trying to find an illithid you have been long chasing. Am I correct?"

"You know a lot of things you have no right to know," muttered the swordstalker grudgingly, sending a death glare at the gold elf.

Inglor, however, remained completely unaffected and all but rolled his eyes at the Gith. "It's my job to know things I have no right to know. But I am sorry to say that your friends were outmanoeuvred by that illithid and killed. I know where the killer now hides!"

"And how were my friends caught by the hated illithid?" There was barely repressed anger in the voice of the Githyanki.

"That I am not sure of," returned Inglor. He had no desire to get Jan Jansen, Minsc and Keldorn into trouble. Inglor had heard that they had slain the two githyanki to obtain the aid of the illithid in healing a little girl whose mind had been hurt, but he would be damned before he told that to the Girhyanki. He knew that Gith vengeance would fall heavily on those who killed their brethren and he desired to spare the trio the weight of that fury. He continued, "I know for sure that the bodies of your friends were found dumped in the docks. Perhaps you can learn the details from the illithid once you catch him."

Simyaz frowned for a long moment. Inglor could almost see through him. The hatred of the Gith for the illithid was legendary and every Gith in and around Athkatla would likely make a beeline to the stronghold that Inglor pointed out, intent on slaying the hated illithid. But he would be suspicious, even if Inglor had proved his worth once. "How do you know all this?"

"After your Gith friends were found dead in the docks, I had my people retrieve those bodies. Then we found signs of psychic emanations near the dead bodies. A few divination spells told me where the illithid was hiding."

"Very well," answered Simyaz. "Where is this illithid? And what do you want in return?"

Inglor gave the githyanki the location of the illithid and then spoke of his predicament. The githyanki nodded, "Okay, I'll send one of my healers to attend this friend of yours ...."

---(Scene Break)---

Three days had passed since the Gith healer had worked on Zaeron, trying to return him to shape. Inglor had come now and then, engaged his subordinate in small talk, inquired about his needs and left a few gifts, but had not broached the subject of his attack and incapacitation.

It was only on the fourth day that Inglor first spoke of the subject during a visit. "It is good to see you back in shape, Zaeron," the gold elf smiled at Zaeron, as he entered the sick room where the tortured infiltrator was confined. Ellesime and Imoen followed him, the former had her hood down, and the collars of her robes turned up. The gold elf continued, "I am very glad you did not suffer irreparable damage."

Zaeron, supported by Selina, attempted to rise from his bed, but Inglor crossed the room and firmly pushed the half elf back. "No, you will stay in bed until the healer pronounces you fit enough. However, I wonder if you feel strong enough to answer a few questions?"

Selina, who had flashed him a look of gratitude when he had stopped the half-elf from rising, now frowned. "Is this needed, guildmaster? He's not yet okay, you know!" There was genuine annoyance in her voice.

Inglor replied soothingly, "I am truly sorry, Selina. Believe me, I truly am. I know how badly Zaeron has been injured, and I would not impose my will were it not absolutely necessary. A few minutes of your time and I shall let you be in peace"

Selina still looked mutinous, but moved closer to the half elf and held his hand. Ere she could say anything, Zaeron overrode her. "It's alright. I can answer."

"Can you tell us what you discovered, Zaeron, ere you were captured?"

Selina flashed him a surprised look. "You don't want to know how he was caught?"

"Not yet," answered Inglor. "That will require carefully going over all his movements for the last month, checking and cross checking to find out where he was betrayed to be caught. It is cruel to subject a sick man to such inquisition, and I am not wantonly cruel. Besides, Selina, the ones who assaulted Zaeron are long gone now. It is more than a week since he was caught and it would be foolish to suppose that they are still waiting for us to trap them. We can do that exercise of checking his movements later on. For now, I am just interested in the pith of the information he discovered since he sent that report to Jariel two weeks ago." He smiled gently at Selina, "Fifteen minutes and I shall leave you in peace."

Selina looked a bit mollified at this. Zaeron leaned back on the pillows that the sorceress adjusted and spoke in a voice that was still hoarse, "I discovered two bits of information after the report. And I didn't send one bit of information to Jariel, guildmaster. He probably told you a woman was looking for the Bhaalspawn?"

Inglor nodded, and Zaeron proceeded, "There was one thing I didn't tell him at the time. The woman – calling herself Melissan – is persuading Bhaalspawn to seek shelter in Saradush."

"What do you know about this Melissan?"

"Nothing. Just her name. She's a mystery."

Inglor looked sharply at the recumbent half elf, "But the woman's already persuaded two Bhaalspawn – Berena Elkan and Halbazzer Drin to move to Saradush. Rumour's that she's persuaded the Tethyran governor of Saradush, Count Santele, to offer them protection. She's also talking to two more Bhaalspawn – a mercenary captain named Gromnir Il Khan and a Rundeen assassin named Eler Had to seek refuge in Saradush."

Inglor remained deep in thought for a minute. "Let us take this piecewise. First – the Bhaalspawn themselves. What do you know about them?"

"Berena Elkan used to be a minor noble. Her parents, like most other nobles, died during the civil war and she used to be a pit fighter. Eventually, she joined the Tethyran army, when Zaranda started looking for recruits to put her land in order and became the captain of a small battalion. She was a very respected commander, I hear, and actually won the admiration of the people in the area of Survale Ford, where she fought monsters like some storybook heroine. Her deeds also won her membership of the Order of the Radiant Heart."

Imoen's ears perked up at that. "A Radiant Heart?"

"Aye!," nodded Zaeron. "When it became known to her superiors that she was a Bhaalspawn, she was removed in disgrace from her knighthood."

"They threw her out for being a Bhaalspawn?!" inquired Imoen horrified.

" Can't have her foul blood staining their armour polish, I suppose," muttered Inglor bitterly.

"Anyway, while the Radiant Heart simply threw her out, the Tethyrans did one better. They tried to kill her. She survived and escaped and fled south from Ithmong. Our friendly woman caught up with her and promised her security in Saradush. She is now leading a small contingent of Count Santele's forces."

"You've done excellent work, Zaeron," complimented Inglor. "Go on. What about Halbazzer Drin?"

"He's a minotaur. Was a highway robber from what I can gather. Bloodthirsty lad, but also clever. Chose only the weak and the helpless to steal from. Supposedly never left any survivors after his robberies, so he can't be convicted."

"Eww!" muttered Imoen. "I don't wanna think of my brothers doing that."

"You have better siblings to think of, Immie," murmured Inglor to her. "But do go on, Zaeron. So how was that thug persuaded to go to Saradush?"

"Well ...," hesitated Zaeron. "Rumour's that the queen Zaranda has issued an order to the Order of the Dagger to capture and kill any Bhaalspawn they can find."

"But why'd Santele take in Bhaalspawn in Saradush, if Zaranda's ordered them killed," blurted out Imoen, puzzlement evident in her voice.

"The command to the Order of the Dagger's a secret." returned the infiltrator. "I only found out about it because we've got some very high level informers in the Queen's palace. It's possible that Santele doesn't know."

Inglor nodded, noticing the pallor of Zaeron's face, rose to his feet. Even this talking had exhausted the infiltrator. He walked to the nearby decanter and poured out some elven feywine for the recuperating half-elf. "Drink this," he offered. Some colour returned to the cheek of the infiltrator as he gulped down the drink.

Inglor queried, "You sent word to Jariel that this Gromnir was a mercenary?"

"Aye," nodded Zaeron. "He has a rather large contingent of mercenaries called `The Marchers'. Very well trained too, from what I hear. His group fought with distinction for Zaranda's forces a couple of years ago. He's got the reputation of fulfilling his obligations once he makes them, no matter what. He's a pricey mercenary, but an honest one. Also has a formidable temper. He's also a phenomenal fighter and strong as a carthorse."

"Hmm – any channels open to Gromnir?"

"Not really, no," returned Zaeron. "His mercenary captains are unknown to me, and they are the only ones who really have any influence with him. What I discovered, I got from hearsay in Ithmong and from Zaranda's troops who fought alongside him. We really have no one in his circle."

Inglor nodded, his eyes distant for a moment. Then briskly, he returned to the present. "Continue, Zaeron. What about that Rundeen assassin?"

"He is a very high quality assassin, whom the Rundeen use in only a few special jobs. The rumour was that he was one of the group who tracked down the Harper assassins – the ones who killed a whole lot of Rundeen members a few years ago - and was successful in killing most of them. He is reputed to be a master of poisons."

Inglor paced around the room, his head sunk on his chest. He was deep in thought, After a few minutes, during which Imoen had once more filled up a glass of elven feywine for the weakened half elf. Finally, Inglor raised his head and queried, "In all this, you haven't said anything about Balthazar."

"Balthazar's difficult to read," sighed the infiltrator. "We know very little about him. He's the commander of Amkethran, so he counts as an He's brave beyond measure and he risked himself fearlessly to protect the people of Amkethran." Seeing Inglor's questioning look, he explained, "Amkethran's a border fortress-village in the Calim desert. Commands the north-eastern trade routes to Calimshan proper. Balthazar's the Calimshite officer that's in-charge of this garrison."

"I thought he was a monk," inquired Inglor.

"Aye, that he is," returned the infiltrator, his voice growing feebler. "The monks make up most of the garrison of Amkethran. They have a training school or centre in Amkethran. The Pasha's happy to let them use the castle there as long as they act as border guards. Monks make very good fighters, so it works to mutual advantage. The monks get a quiet place to pick up promising students and train, and the pasha gets excellent border guards."

Imoen commented dryly, "They can't be all that good. There is a roaring smuggling trade going on in silks, incense and gems across that border."

"They thrive with the blessings of the pasha," corrected Inglor. "The Calimshites are unhappy about the only route being the highway between Calimport and Memnon, so they've been trying to open another route to south-eastern Tethyr. The official policy is to encourage everyone, including smugglers, to utilise this trade route. As long as smugglers bring in necessities to the local communities, their – ah – other activities are tolerated by the officials."

Seeing Zaeron's strength spent and Selina glaring angrily at him, Inglor raised his hand placatingly. "One last question and I will leave you to recuperate in peace. Is there any way to contact this Balthazar?"

"The pirate captain, Saemon Havarian, is reputed to be in Amkethran. He's made Amn and Tethyr too hot to hold him. He's keeping a low profile in Calimshan."

"Saemon!" Inglor's face brightened. "Excellent work, Zaeron. May the Seldarine watch over you! If you need anything else, Selina, either for yourself or Zaeron, come to me. Good luck."

With that, the three visitors bade Zaeron and Selina good luck and left the sick room.

---(Scene Break)---

Inglor, Imoen and Ellesime were all seated in his office ten minutes later. Inglor leant back in his chair, his eyes vacant and focussed on something a million miles away. The long silence was finally broken by Imoen, who poked her brother in the chest "You've been all silent, telling no one anything, Lord Doom-and-Gloom! Open up now! What're you planning?"

Inglor's lips quirked in a demure smile. It was almost as if he truly enjoyed the light hearted antics of his sister. Or perhaps, he enjoyed the thought of his siblings being able to truly enjoy the world. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "As the archmagess commands. Let us begin in order. Imoen here knows the prophecies of Alaundo. I take your Majesty knows of them as well?"

The queen returned, "Not well, I am afraid."

Imoen interrupted with a chuckle, "I thought you didn't believe the prophecies? What was it you said about Alaundo and other seers? `What is a seer but a speaker of few truths and many lies', wasn't it?

"I don't believe, Immie, but Bhaal did and that is what matters," returned Inglor quietly. "He believed in the inevitability of his own death and took steps to undo it. I have been looking into what measures he undertook to resurrect himself. While I have not been able to glean a lot, my researches have not been entirely barren. Working from both the notes of both irenicus and Sarevok, and putting it together with information that Venduris and his group had gathered, along with other sources I have, I think I have a basic idea of what he wanted."

When Inglor mentioned the notes of Irenicus, Ellesime's head snapped up, and her eyes barely masked her worry. Inglor smiled reassuringly at the queen, but made no reference to it. Instead, he continued, "Alaundo's prophecy says that the Lord of Murder would perish, but in his doom, he would spawn a score of mortal progeny. The Bhaalspawn might be good or evil, but in the footsteps of all shall there be chaos." He smiled at his two expectant interlocutors. "What would you deduce from that if you were Bhaal?"

Imoen retorted, waving her hand in dismissal, "Yeah, yeah – I've heard that a few thousand times. We all know what Bhaal wanted – to return from the dead using his children."

"And how would he accomplish it?" questioned her brother.

Imoen frowned, "If his children fought each other and one remained, that one would become Bhaal's successor."

"Do you really believe it?" queried Inglor. "Do you really believe that, of all deities, Bhaal, the Lord of Murder, the one who would happily turn on anyone including Bane and Myrkul if it benefited him in the least, would take such a lot of pain and preparation to ensure that someone else, even if it were his child, would become his successor?"

Both Imoen and Ellesime looked on expectantly, and Inglor continued, "No, Immie, I don't think that was his plan at all. He wanted to ensure that _HE _returned from the dead. The actual fate of his children concerned him not at all, outside of what it boded for his own return. In fact, should he return, our own days will be numbered. The children are meant to be the fuel for his rebirth, and we hold a bit of his power. Nothing more."

"So what was his plan, then?" inquired Ellesime.

"I don't know all of his plan. I have a few clues which would lead us the right way. By the way, Sarevok's plan – of death and murder on a grand scale – would never have worked, except to give more power to the sleeping essence of Bhaal. It would certainly not have made him a god."

"But what do you know of his plan?" repeated Ellesime.

Inglor returned with grim focus, "I hold a few clues, your Majesty. The first thing is that I do not believe that any of us are meant to take his throne. Anyone attempting that particular folly will only be enabling the return of Bhaal. How exactly he planned to do that, I don't know – not yet. But since it involves getting his children to fight each other for dominance and the consequent death and devastation left in its wake, we can be certain that anything do stop that from occurring would help us survive."

"Is that why you're attempting to find other Bhaalspawn?" asked Imoen.

"I think if we could convince our siblings of not trying to make a grab for Bhaal's power at the expense of each other, we would all have a considerably lengthier lifespan," replied Inglor quietly.

`Inglor did not miss a lot', mused the queen of Suldanessellar internally. He had read Bhaal aright – of that Ellesime was certain. But there was a lot more he was not telling. The daughter of Rillifane – the politician who had survived a thousand crises – did not miss much either. Inglor wanted to survive, and just out of family loyalty, would rather that his siblings survived as well. But there was more to it, and when he had spoken of getting the children of Bhaal not to fight each other, she had divined his purpose. `Divide and conquer was a splendid concept', thought Ellesime dispassionately. `But a far more rewarding idea, if it could be achieved, was Unite and Lead'. And that, precisely, was what this gold elf was attempting. Already he was extremely powerful – Ellesime did not know the extent of his power, but it was definitely enormous judging by the way he had stopped Irenicus, who had defeated her and held her entire city to ransom. But if he actually managed to win the confidence of his siblings – siblings who probably wielded similar power – he would be one of the most powerful beings on Toril. And Ellesime, at that moment, made a decision to support him in his bid. His power, if she won his confidence, could greatly benefit her City and the elves in general. Inglor was the kind who was unstintingly loyal to his allies, as was evidenced by the lengths to which he had gone to aid her and his employees. And Ellesime would risk much to secure his trust. She pulled herself out of her reverie and questioned, "You said you did not know how Bhaal planned to return, _yet_. What did you mean by that?"

"The only place to find out more about Bhaal's plans, Your Majesty, would be in Bhaal's realm," replied Inglor. "Using the notes of Irenicus, and other bits of my own knowledge, I have managed to create a ritual that can take us to Bhaal's domain." Imoen gasped and Ellesime's face reflected her astonishment at the pronouncement, but Inglor continued, "The only problem is that I need to find a place where the ritual can be carried out. I have not been able to secure such a location yet."

"And what manner of location do you need yet?" asked Ellesime.

"The exact opposite of all that Bhaal embodied," returned Inglor unhesitatingly. "A place of quiet contemplation, of peaceful death, where death comes gently and is accepted as a natural transition to another state."

Ellesime thought for a long time, her chin sunk upon her breast. Finally, she raised her royal head and inquired, "Would your ritual involve any ... desecration ... of the place?"

"Certainly not," returned Inglor. "I can show you the ritual itself. By using the very opposite of Bhaal's power, I would only use the latent energies of the place to propel us all to Bhaal's domain."

Ellesime made a decision. "In that case, Inglor, I think I have the exact place!"

---(Author's Notes)---

First, a bit of information about the Rundeen. They were a bunch of unethical mercantile monopolists of Calimshan and Chult. They are involved in all kinds of trade, from the legal and the legitimate to the illegal and slave trading. They have a long standing hatred for Harpers, after Harper assassins killed three of the give Yrshalem (governors) of the Rundeen. After the Harper attack on the Rundeen, the latter began hiring assassins to eliminate Harpers and their agents. I am going to go a bit deeper into the Forgotten Realms lore, but I will add all information necessary to follow the plot. If there is anything unclear, please let me know.

Second, I think you can all see where the next part of the story is going now. I am taking away the deus ex machina bits of the story and replacing them with protagonist initiative. However, my story will never follow canon completely and has a more intelligent, cunning and thorough Bhaal.

Finally, the other Bhaalspawn mentioned in the chapter. They are all in Gromnir's stronghold in the game. It is implied by Melissan that they are all Bhaalspawn, although it is never explicitly stated. I have gone on with the assumption that they are indeed Bhaalspawn.

Thanks to Abstract_Error and Ladydorotea for their help in improving the chapter. As usual, all criticism is welcome.

1Tir'su – the script of Githyanki language. It is written in clockwise fashion, and is probably the only one to employ that style.


	9. The Great Escape

**Bhaalspawn Union – 9**

Discialimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate or Forgotten Realms. All that belongs to Bioware, TSR, WotC, etc.

**The Great Escape**

Inglor reclined in his chair and listened to Ellesime's explanation about the Sacred Grove in the heart of the Wealdath1. The Grove was a holy place, a place where the bodies of the wisest and noblest and most highly regarded elves who had departed to Arvandor were buried. Indeed, many elves who had the privilege of being buried there often went to the sanctuary to seek the guidance of Sehanine Moonbow to enter Arvandor. The grove was located around fifteen leagues east of Suldanessellar.

Inglor queried, "How can I get there?"

"I can lead you there, Inglor," returned the daughter of Rillifane.

Inglor shook his head, "I do not consider it wise, Your Majesty. Getting there will be hard enough, in the present situation. But you risking your life in the Wealdath where Sovalidass' elves are bound to be looking for you? No, that is unacceptably dangerous."

"There is no way for me to describe how to find the Grove that is cloaked in illusions. Besides, it is only I who can open lead you there. No matter your powers, I doubt you can get there at all on your own." Ellesime's voice was cool and hard, the voice of a queen not accustomed to having her decisions questioned by a field officer.

Inglor's face reflected nothing, but his voice was more human than anytime Ellesime had heard it. "It is an unwarranted risk. Imoen and I play this game because we have no choice, your Majesty. But I cannot acquiesce to imperilling the life of the queen of the elves on a mission that offers nothing but the most distant chances of success."

Ellesime threw her head back and laughed, "Queen of the elves?!", she mocked. "Elf, I have no country, queen, I have no throne! But be that as I may, Inglor. Listen to me! I have chosen to come here, in full knowledge of the task that lies before you. It seems fated that I should help you. Indeed, I shall go as far as to say that it is the will of the Seldarine that has brought me here. For good or for ill, my fate is tied now to yours and I shall aid you to the best of my abilities. That is decided. We shall not speak of this again." The cold, flashing eyes of the queen manifested her feelings on the subject unabashedly.

Inglor had opened his mouth to contest he words, but something in Ellesime's stern and determined demeanour forbade it. His eyes locked with hers and for a moment, they strove with their wills, but Inglor sighed and looked away. The gold elf reflected that the queen had her lines that must not be crossed and being questioned and obstructed by anyone, including Inglor, was not permitted. Besides, the daughter of Rillifane needed to enforce her own will, signalling to him that while she was his ally, she was not another Imoen. Finally, Inglor had seen through her project. The queen needed him and had also seen his loyalty to his allies and she wished to utilise that, if he was successful. "Be it so," he intoned, with genuine gratitude. "I am grateful for your Majesty's help." His eyes were fixed on something a million miles away.

After a moment silence, Imoen broke in, "Okay. All that's fine. But how're we gonna get to this Grove. It's not like we can just waltz there across the Wealdath."

Inglor returned to the present from his reverie and he replied, "The more accurate question is – how are we going to leave this city at all?"

Ellesime had raised an inquiring eyebrow at his correction, but Imoen burst out, "What d'ya mean?"

"We know from Zaeron's information that the Queen of Tethyr has commanded the Order of the Dagger to hunt and slay the Bhaalspawn. Our presence here will have been reported to them by now by Westrane or even the Harpers. So, I will be very surprised if we don't find all exits from the city watched for us."

This was a logical possibility and one that had not occurred to either Ellesime or Imoen. They both nodded sombrely. Inglor continued, "Once we are out of Zazesspur, we cannot use the regular eastward route from Port Kir past Suldanessellar, or the way up the Sulduskoon valley from the south to the Grove. Both of them will be heavily watched, since Queen Ellesime disappeared in that area. Some of the watchers will be well-intentioned towards her, no doubt, but may nevertheless report her presence to Sovalidass. No, our best hope is to take a ship out from Port Kir to Murann and then work our way from the north,. This will also give us the option of using the other string to our bow, so to speak."

"What d'ya mean?" inquired Imoen.

"Our meetings with the other Bhaalspawn, of course. We can meet Saemon Havarian and other Bhaalspawn in Trailstone, after we've dealt with the Grove business. It is a neutral enough place that should allay the suspicions of the other Bhaalspawn and well removed from the mainland of Tethyr that we can meet in safety."

"What's the plan when we meet them?" inquired Imoen.

"The first plan, Im, is to learn what _they_ want. Once we know that, we can try negotiating. It is useless, you will admit, to do anything with those who aspire for Bhaal's power. But those that prefer to live ..., well, they may make allies. All the same, let's not get our hopes too much."

"Assuming that you're able to get some of them to reject Bhaal's taint, what do you plan to do. What can you offer them, and what can they offer you?"

Inglor had just opened his mouth to question the queen, when a knock sounded on the door. Anmol poked his head in at Inglor's command to enter and spoke, "There're things ya need to hear. Just got some news."

The gold elf nodded, "Come in, Anmol. There are things you should know as well."

"Guildmaster?" the lanky human thief brushed the greying hair back from his eyes and dropped into the chair the guildmaster pushed towards him.

"But let's first hear your news. What have you heard?"

"First thing – fire giants've burst outta the Marching Mountains. They're ravaging southern Tethyr."

"Fire giants in the middle of winter," murmured Inglor in wonder. "I wonder what will is driving them ..." He raised his head after a moment and said, "What have they done?"

"From what I hear, they're taking apart the countryside in southern Tethyr. They haven't attacked no forts. I don't know no more."

"I see. What else?" queried the gold elf.

"The Tethyran guards are stopping everyone at all gates and those trying to leave on ships in the docks. Orders from the queen herself, I hears. Rumour's that they're looking for ya and Imoen. There's also talk that they're gonna start searching the city soon – once they get more people from Ithmong."

Ellesime and Imoen gasped at the information, but Inglor looked only thoughtful. "I wonder what little bird has been whispering in Remincken's shell like ear," murmured the gold elf. Remincken was the chief of the Order of the Dagger in the City. He continued much more seriously, "Very well, Anmol. You've done fine. Now listen carefully. This city is going to be too hot for us for a while. While they've not begun against you and our other people yet, they may soon. So, I want all of our people who don't have a good cover or a nice hiding place out of the city in the next two or three days. I can make sure you get that much time. For those who want to go into hiding in the city, I will make sure that all our safe houses are well supplied for at least the next couple of months, by which time, things should become safe again for us. Once you leave, the city, I want you to send a message to Saemon Havarian. He's in Amkethran in Calimshan – or was there last I heard. Tell him that he should meet me in two months from today in the _Golden Lily _in Trailstone. Tell him that he need fear nothing from me if he does turn up. No reprisals for his past betrayals. However, if he fails to turn up, tell him I will be activating the contract for his head that Aran Linvail had offered me when the good pirate betrayed me to the Githyanki."

Anmol nodded slowly, understanding the situation and message that his superior desired to convey to the captain.

Inglor continued, "Next, once you are in Calimshan, I want you to work on the Rundeen. Try to find out everything you can about one of their assassins – his name is Eler Had, and he worked extensively against the Harpers during the Harper reprisals in Calimshan. Send information in the same way as usual – through Jariel."

Once more, Anmol nodded

The gold elf finished, "Finally, keep an eye on this city from outside. Once it is safe – and I will leave you to judge when it is safe – you will return to the city to begin normal operations again."

"Aye. But about ya?"

"I will be leaving the city with our sick half elf in the next few days."

Ya'll be leaving the city with our sick half elf?! How? All gates and the docks are being watched carefully!"

"I'll cross the bridge when I come to it," returned Inglor almost indifferently. "Just get yourself and our people to safety. Don't worry about me."

---(Scene Break)---

Berena Elkan's sword hissed as she stood up in her stirrups and brought down her sword against the neck of the fire giant that was just trying to rise from the ground after the momentum of her charging horse had knocked down the fire giant off his feet. Ere the giant could regain his footing, her blade had struck home and the fire giant moved no more. Quickly, she surveyed the field. Her first attack, delivered perfectly, had inflicted some casualties on the enemy, but they were hardly defeated. Indeed, more than half her own party had been lost, either dead or incapacitated, and the fire giants, having absorbed her battalion's first assault, were now preparing to launch a counter attack. To add to the peril, a new group of fire giants was already visible on the horizon on her right and was moving in rapidly. The situation was beyond redemption, and the only thing to do now was to save the remainder of her soldiers.

She cried to her remaining comrades, "Retreat! Mieth's company to stand with me to hold the bridge. The rest – run now!" She urged her horse away from the ruined village, evading the rocks being hurled by the gang of fire-giants that was preparing to counter attack.

As she and her comrades fell back in good order, her thoughts flew to her predicament of the moment. Her party of elite Tethyran soldiers from Saradush, which had been sent out to deal with the fire giant problem, had found itself in deep trouble. The enemy fought with a single minded ferocity which had astonished her. What had surprised her far greater was extraordinary military abilities of the fire giant leader. Fire giants were raiders par excellence, capable of looting villages and killing helpless, untrained and unarmed villagers. They rarely showed the guts to face an assault of a full company of elite Tethyran soldiers, if for no other reason than that they were out for loot and saw no need to risk themselves fighting capable soldiers. But now, not only were the fire giants fighting off full scale assaults by the elite troops, they were also executing military manoeuvres that were far beyond the average fire giant. All this argued the presence of an entity controlling these fire giants. She was troubled that she knew nothing of who was leading these fire giants.

Berenn, the leader of the fire giants, roared to his men, "Attack! Kill them! Roast them!"

A new fire giant, a titan even among those fire giants, had entered behind Berenn. He growled to the latter, "Stop the attack! No one chase them! Check village for people!"

"But, Yaga Shura ..." stuttered the flummoxed Berenn. Yaga Shura grabbed the other by the lapels and hauled him up, "Do as I tell!"

In a minute, Berenn had cancelled the order. The fire giants had regrouped. They had accounted for their own people, and the enemy.

There were ten Tethyran prisoners, and a few dozen villagers left alive and they were now held prisoner at the pleasure of Yaga Shura. All the Tethyran soldiers had been dragged to a small ditch, and killed and thrown into it. "What we do with them, Master?" queried Berenn, gesturing to the villagers.

Yaga Shura looked at the ditch. "Space for twenty more there," he growled, nodding towards the depression in the ground. "Rest – keep alive. We use them for food later."

---(Scene Break)---

Six guards were manning the gates that controlled the roads leading north towards Port Kir and Mosstone. They were led by a captain in the Tethyran army. The captain had specific orders not to permit anyone to leave unless he had examined all travellers and had satisfied himself that neither Inglor, nor his accused collaborators were with him. He had been performing his duties assiduously. However, a consequence of his methodical searches of all carriages was that a long queue of carriages had formed up near the gates. All travellers were taken into the guardhouse at the gates by two guards, where they were checked by the soldiers for physical disguises, and two mages performed an anti-illusion spell to make sure that there were no magical camouflages.

Towards nightfall on the third day, the guards arrived at a carriage in which two elderly humans were being driven by an elven girl. They were ordered to come into the guardhouse. The old human, who gave his name as Weskin, protested in his hoarse voice, "Can't. My wife's leg's hurt. She can't walk."

The captain looked contemptuously at the old man and said, "You have one minute to obey."

Grumbling, cursing the guards, and yelling at the elven girl to help, he got down, and with some difficulty, he helped his wife dismount. They limped into the guardhouse, where they were examined by the guards. When the mage came forward to cast a spell, the old man seemed to lose his composure. "No, no – none of your foul spells!" he shouted.

"Don't worry," returned the mage soothingly. "This won't hurt."

"Stop," yelled the old man, jumping to his feet, but he was too late. The spell from the mage had dissipated the illusion covering him, and in the place of the old man and his wife stood Inglor Starym and his sister. But if he had been surprised by the mages and their _true sight _spells, he had regained his composure. A wave of his hand sent an irresistible force towards the others. The two mages and the guards were flung back as the wave of magic swept over them. Inglor, Imoen and the elven girl ran out of the guardhouse, where the Tethyran captain stood. Seeing Inglor, he barked an order to his men and they drew their crossbows. Inglor saw that he could not get past the guards and his way out of the city was blocked, so he and his companions turned and ran towards the labyrinth of byways that led into the old city. The guards released their arrows, but the light was poor for shooting and besides, Inglor had raised a magical shield unobtrusively. The arrows deflected off the aegis and the three companions disappeared into the alleys, and out of sight of the guards in less than a minute.

The captain was elated. He had stopped Inglor from escaping, even if he had not captured him and he was now sure of his promotion. If only he could have capture the bastard.... His guards and the two mages were just appearing from the guardhouse, unsteady and confused. The captain assessed the situation and came to a decision. He roared at one of the two guards who had failed to capture the Bhaalspawn. "Branis – take a message to Lord Remincken. Tell him what's happened. We've stopped Inglor from escaping out of Zazesspur, but he's fled into the old city. We'll hold the gates against him."

As the guard limped off into the city, the captain heard a peasant voice, coarse and shrewish, at his elbow, "Lord Westrane's not gonna be pleased you've kept his people from travelling!"

The guard turned to see a girl of around nineteen, who had been driving a carriage with the armorial standards of the Westrane family. This carriage was in the forefront of the queue.

"Who're you?" questioned the captain.

"What business of yours is it?" snarled a thick voice from the window of the carriage. "I warn you, captain, if you detain us here, you'll be answering to Lord Westrane for your impudence!"

The captain waved the carriage on. Westrane and his associates were no concern of his. His mind was fixated on Inglor and his capture and even now, he was wondering where the accursed elf had vanished.

---(Scene Break)---

Five minutes later, Lord Westrane and half a dozen of his mercenaries rode up to the North gate. The captain saluted the old noble smartly. Lord Westrane was a man of considerable influence and he desired to be in the good books of the noble. Westrane ignored his salute and rasped, "Did you see my carriage?"

"Aye," nodded the captain. "It just passed through not five minutes ago."

"You let it through?!" roared the noble incredulously. At the captain's uncomprehending nod, he shouted, smacking his fist into his palm "You fool! Remincken'll hear of your stupidity! I'll have your commission for this!"

"But but ..." gasped the captain, unable to understand what was going on.

"My carriage has been stolen," he informed the captain curtly. The captain groaned inwardly and the old noble continued in his snarling tone, "Did you see who was in the carriage?"

"A girl and a man," returned the captain uncertainly.

"You idiot! Did it never occur to you that I would never let others use my carriage?!" demanded the outraged noble. "My carriage is my own, you cretin!"

"But how was I to know ...," whined the captain.

Once more ignoring the captain's protest, the old noble snarled, "I suppose it would be too much for one of your intellectual capacities to have noticed what direction it went in?"

"It went towards Port Kir." answered the captain woodenly.

The old noble urged his horse forward in the direction indicated by the captain, muttering, "Five minutes. If we ride fast, we can catch them ...". He rode past the guards and their blockade, gesturing to his mercenaries to follow him, leaving behind him a deeply shaken captain.

A mile from Zazesspur, Lord Westrane morphed into the cynically smiling form of Inglor, as he joined Selina and Zaeron who emerged from Westrane's stolen carriage. He turned to his companions, who included Imoen, Ellesime, Anmol and a few of his shadow thieves. Imoen chortled, "I'd like to see Westrane's face when he learns his carriage's been stolen and we've used his name to escape from Zazesspur."

"It was a brilliant idea you came up with, Inglor," muttered the Queen, astonished at his ability to bluff his way through the tightest of situations.

Inglor chuckled, "Keeping those horses in readiness in the old city was Anmol's idea, so he deserves credit for part of the scheme. But really, there is no need to kill soldiers for trying to do their dury. By the time, they figure out what has happened and begin to restructure their search, we should be out of Tethyr. Now Anmol, the rest of our people can vanish quietly into our hiding places in Tethyr. You'll work on the Rundeen after you've delivered my message to Saemon. Zaeron, Selina – you two take a boat from Port Kir and go on to Trailstone. If Saemon arrives before us, keep him there until we return. We'll join you as arranged."

1The Wealdath is the Tethyran Forest – a huge expanse of green occupying a major portion of Tethyr. It is bounded in the north, from west to east, by Murann, Trademeet, Brost and Trailstone, and in the south, by the Starspire mountains and Port Kir. On the west, it is bounded by the Sea of Swords and by the Valen peninsula in the north-west. In the east and south-east, it gradually disappears into the fertile Sulduskoon valley and lowlands around Castle Spulzeer Only one road crosses the forest. Starting from Trademeet in the north, it winds its way across the Forest of Tethyr along the coast through Mosstone – the only human town of significance inside the Wealdath – to Port Kir on the Firedrake bay. Geographically, it roughly corresponds to the realm of Arborea in Flash Gordon stories. It is an unbroken stretch, a mix of deciduous and coniferous forest. The only inhabitants outside Mosstone are the elves who survived the persecution have fled there to join those who already lived in the Wealdath. For most of the Tethyrans (humans), it is an impassable barrier. The runaway elves, along with the original elven inhabitants are still there, and most harbour an instinctive mistrust of all outsiders. The chief Too often. they have been kicked in the teeth for foolish trust.


	10. The Heart of the Woods

**Bhaalspawn Union – 10**

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate or the Forgotten Realms. They all belong to Bioware, Wizards of the Coast, etc. I am just playing in the world created by them. As usual, all criticism is welcome.

**The Heart of the Woods**

"The situation grows serious, my friends." A man of middle height, with greying hair at his temples, was addressing a group of people who had gathered in the _Silver Stork_ inn in Murann. The group addressed by this man was diverse indeed. There were a pair of elves, a ranger and a mage with the insignia of Suldanessellar, several bards, a even few dwarves from the Omlarandin mountains. At first sight, it appeared that there was nothing in common in this assembled group. On closer observation, it transpired that they all had one small unifying factor – a silver pin that they all wore at their throats. All of them, at the moment, were involved in listening carefully to the speaker.

"I would have thought that our position had improved," returned one of the audience, "with Suldanessellar now harmonising its policies with our own."

"That was indeed fortuitous," added another. "Had Queen Ellesime been in command, we would have been in greater trouble than we now are."

The lecturer continued, "As helpful as the latest developments in Suldanessellar have been, there is the problem that Yaga Shura has defeated our Southern Army, south-west of Saradush. The city is now besieged and this represents a crisis we will have to deal with."

"A crisis?!," echoed one of the audience, rising to his feet. The man was dressed in a Tethyran army uniform beneath his cloak. He persisted, "If not immediately dealt with, Yaga Shura's army could simply sweep up north and take Ithmong in a few weeks. We've no reserves and there is no army of any real significance between Saradush and Ithmong. Ithmong's own defences are in a poor state!"

The lecturer bowed, "Aye. What you say is true. And that is why we must deal with this crisis politically, rather than militarily."

"Just what do you mean by that?" returned the army man who had questioned the speaker.

"Tell me, how long do you expect Saradush to last?" murmured the lecturer.

The soldier considered, "Saradush has stocks of food that should last the population a month. The walls are strong and although the army was defeated, they made a coherent retreat back to Saradush, thanks to that mercenary, Gromnir. I would not expect the garrison to surrender, so Yaga Shura's only hope will be to wait it out until its food stocks run out and he can starve them to submission. My fear is that he might just rush past Saradush and head straight for the capital. Therefore, we must immediately raise another army, and occupy the crossings and fords of the Ith[1]. If Yaga Shura ignores Saradush, we can hold him at the Ith, and encourage Gromnir to assault his rear. If, on the other hand, he besieges Saradush, we can strengthen our forces in the next few weeks, perhaps even try to extract the fighting squadrons out of Saradush and come spring, we will be in a position to drive out the fire giants back into their mountain strongholds."

"You overlook three factors," returned the lecturer softly. "For one thing, Yaga Shura will not give up the siege of Saradush under any circumstances."

"Why does your excellency say that?" asked one of the elven rangers

"Yaga Shura is a Child of Bhaal," returned the lecturer quietly. "He is trying to assume the mantle of his divine sire. And Saradush has the highest number of Bhaalspawn now – in fact, most of the lesser Bhaalspawn are concentrated there."

"Why are they there? And how do you know about that?" the army man had snapped.

"Count Santele[2] has been accepting bribes from the Bhaalspawn for their entry into Saradush. I assume that once Bhaalspawn were being hunted by Yaga Shura, they tried to reach safety and Saradush offered the best chance for them. Many of the Bhaalspawn are there now and Yaga Shura needs to kill them to ascend to godhood."

There were collective nods from the audience. Yaga Shura would certainly not give up the siege of Saradush until he had killed the Bhaalspawn. The army man queried, "But why can't we go ahead with our preventive measures?"

"Have you looked at our finances, my friend?" sighed the lecturer. "The civil war and the war with the Sythillisians has depleted the treasury. Our other forces are tied up in the Small Teeth area or in the rebellion at Myratma. We need at least thirty companies of well trained soldiers to occupy the Ith crossings with any hope of stopping Yaga Shura. We simply cannot afford to fight another war on our southern borders."

"If this Yaga Shura marches towards Ithmong after he has finished with Saradush, we will need to fight them anyway," replied the soldier heatedly. He turned towards the elves from Suldanessellar and the dwarves from Omlarandin mountains. "What forces can we expect from our allies?"

The ranger and the mage exchanged glances, before the ranger replied quietly, "We can contribute three companies."

"Three companies?!" echoed the soldier incredulously. "That is all we can expect?!"

"The recent war with the drow has left our forces in shambles. There is nothing more we can do." The cold finality in the elven ranger's tone left the others in no doubt that it was useless to press the issue further.

One of the dwarves spoke, "We'll send four companies. Our own king's dead and Fairnholme's on the brink of civil war."

The soldier sat down heavily, his eyes flaming at the thought of getting next to no help from the allies.

The lecturer sighed, "You see the problem now, don't you?" He continued in a sad and weary tone, "Finally, there is the question of trained manpower for the war. It is useless to press new recruits into this battle. The moment they see fire giants, they will squeal and bolt. They simply cannot be expected to stand up to a charge of fire giants. That leaves mercenaries. Unfortunately, we cannot hire them."

"Why not? Money can be found, milord, if that is the issue," rasped the army man.

"No – the problem is not merely money, although that remains a significant one. The problem is that there are no mercenaries left for us to hire. Most of the Tethyran mercenaries have been hired either by Yaga Shura himself or by this Gromnir. But even the remaining ones have simply vanished – we can find no trace of them in Tethyr."

"Where have they gone?" whispered one of the audience, now that the magnitude of the problem was becoming evident.

The lecturer replied dryly, "If I may hazard a guess, they have gone to join the Bhaalspawn wars."

There were perplexed glances exchanged. The lecturer hastened to explain. "Yaga Shura is not the only one gathering forces. There is another Bhaalspawn monk named Balthazar across the border in Calimshan. Word is that he is recruiting mercenaries from all over Tethyr and Calimshan. Many of the mercenaries have gone over to join him."

"So what do we do?" queried one of the bards.

"First and foremost, I want some of you to watch Yaga Shura's army movements from the distance. Next, we need to convince the other Bhaalspawn not to move into Tethyr, but out of Tethyr. Therefore, I have persuaded the Queen to declare all Bhaalspawn hostiles and issue an order to put them down if they are caught. This should make the other Bhaalspawn flee Tethyr. Yaga Shura needs to be the only Bhaalspawn standing to rise to the Throne of Bhaal. Therefore, with all the Bhaalspawn out of Tethyr and Yaga Shura being forced to deal with them, I am reasonably confident that we will be able to divert his attentions elsewhere."

"But Saradush?" demanded the soldier harshly.

"I am sorry," sighed the lecturer. "But there is nothing we can do for them."

The army man furiously rose to his feet. "You, your Excellency, may stay here and wait and watch and think. I, a mere soldier, am willing to do what your Excellency is not! I shall lead my soldiers myself, even if no one else is going to aid me. I have the honour to wish you all a very good evening!"

"Wait ..." began one of the elves, but the soldier had already stormed out and the lecturer silenced the elf. He sighed, "There is nothing we can do, and if he is not willing to see the truth, we can do nothing for him. However, we must carry out our duty." He indicated that the meeting was closed. One by one, the assembled slipped out the inn and disappeared into the night, until only a cloaked and hooded figure and the elven mage from Suldanessellar remained.

The lecturer nodded to the unidentified creature, who spoke for the first time, "Inglor Starym is now in the Tethyran woods, milord."

Whatever it was that the other two expected, it was not that. They gaped in astonishment and a moment later, the lecturer recovered, "What is he doing there?"

"I do not know."

"Don't you know his plans?"

"Not really," returned the creature from beneath the hood. " All I know is that he plans to meet a Saemon Havarian in the Golden Lily in Trailstone in six weeks time."

"Any idea why?"

"I think he means to use this Saemon Havarian as a messenger to Balthazar, but I am not sure."

The lecturer paced around for a few minutes, and finally spoke, "Who has accompanied him into the Wealdath?"

"Imoen and an elven woman he picked up in Zazesspur."

"Who is this elven woman?" queried the mage, her ears perking up.

"I have no idea," returned the camouflaged creature. "All I know is that she was picked up in Zazesspur, when she was looking for him. He's been careful to keep her face hidden from everyone."

The mage jumped up almost as if she had been stung, but said nothing. The lecturer spoke, "Apart from his researches about the Bhaalspawn, which you informed me about in your previous report, is there anything else you need to add?"

"No, milord," returned the creature.

"Very well," answered the lecturer. "Return to your post. You shall receive your orders soon."

The hooded figure bowed and retired.

The mage from Suldanessellar waited until the other had retired, her eyes following the retreating outline of the other out the door. Then she spoke, "I have some grave news, milord. Ellesime is not dead!"

"What?!"

The elven mage nodded, "As you know, we never found her body, even when we found the bodies of the othrs. Further, a mage of my calibre can link to the mythal of Suldanessellar. The mythal still bears the signature of Ellesime. Were she dead, this would be impossible. Somehow or the other, she has escaped."

"This complicates matters. We need to find her," mused the lecturer slowly.

"I think we have already found her. That elven woman with Inglor," returned the mage grimly.

"You think so?" whispered the lecturer.

"It is very likely. He is probably the only ally she has now. It also explains why he has been keeping her hidden. He would want to hide her identity to avoid complications."

"And now he is in the Wealdath," muttered the lecturer, catching up with the reasoning of his ally.

"Do you think he is moving towards Suldanessellar?" queried the mage, her worry and fear apparent in her voice.

"It is possible," returned the lecturer. "But I don't think so. Had he been going to Suldanessellar, he would not have gone there with just the queen and his sister. He must know that the odds are stacked against him there and he does not even know who his enemies in Suldanessellar are. If he goes there, both he and Ellesime are completely at our mercy, since we can choose our moment to strike. No, no – I cannot picture him doing anything as rash as marching on Suldanessellar with only two allies. Also, he has avoided all elven settlements or we would have heard of his exact whereabouts by now. If he were rallying people against you, would he not go to elven settlements that the queen is sure of? Nevertheless, I think we should not give him an opportunity to carry out his schemes. It is best if he is intercepted at once."

"I can go, milord. And I have a few capable allies with me ...."

"No," returned the lecturer sharply. "This is a matter on which I would prefer not to endanger either you, or our other allies in Suldanessellar. This is best left to .... our enemies."

"I beg your pardon?" returned the mage in surprise.

"Yes, it is best to remove a thorn with a thorn. I shall have one of my agents inform Illasera – another Bhaalspawn who specialises in hunting down other Bhaalspawn – that Inglor is in the Wealdath. Whether Inglor kills Illasera or Illasera kills Inglor, we shall be the net beneficiaries. If Illasera kills Inglor and his allies, we shall have solved one problem. If, on the other hand, he prevails, he will be too wary of moving close to Suldanessellar in the near future. We shall be rid of his presence for the time being."

"But this Bhaalspawn war ..."

"We must manage it carefully that it does not destroy our countries," answered the lecturer sharply. "That is our task. For that, the children of Bhaal must kill each other without taking everyone else with them!"

---(Scene Break)---

In the heart of the Wealdath is a grove of oak and elm trees of surpassing beauty. Or more accurately, it is a small clearing surrounded by old, and majestic oak and elm trees. In that clearing at the moment stood two elves and a human mage, all three of them looking travel stained. Inglor breathed the cold morning air with relish. Ellesime saw the effect the place was having on her elven companion and smiled in understanding, "It is truly inspiring, is it not?"

Inglor nodded, his elven spirit delighting in the peace of the place. For a moment, his eyes had lost their weariness and the lines on his face vanished, making him look curiously young, "How ..", he began.

"It is thought that this was the place where the elves of the Keltormir empire came to pass on to Arvandor, before their bodies were buried at Myth Rhynn," replied the daughter of Rillifane, answering her companion's incomplete question.

"Myth Rhynn is close?" asked Imoen.

"Indeed. It is about a day's march from here," answered the elven queen.

Inglor shook himself out of his reverie with an effort. "I think it is best if we begin our preparations for the ritual. It is too close to Suldanessellar, and it is not safe to dally."

All three of them immediately began preparations for the ritual. Inglor was a trifle worried about it - the amount of spells they needed for the ritual meant that they would be expending the majority of their magical power in this ritual. If they were attacked by anyone, it would mean that they would all be forced to fight with one hand tied behind their backs. However, there was naught to be done about it and all of them were forced to acquiesce in the situation.

---(Scene Break)---

One of the Black Reavers, not more than a few hundred yards away raised his bow. Ere he could draw the bowstring, Illasera slapped his hand forcing him to drop the arrow. "No, you fool! I want to see what that bastard does! What's he doing here anyway?"

There were no answers to this. Illasera hissed, "I'm the one who's going to take that dog's head off. If anyone takes a shot at him before me, he's gonna have his guts sliced open! Understand?!"

They all nodded mutely. "Okay, we'll move in after we know what he's doing here. I'll give the signal."

---(Scene Break)---

Inglor was carefully drawing the last of the runes for the ritual on the ground, finishing the soft chant under his breath, when he heard a noise – the noise of a twig snapping under a bootheel. His eyes swiftly scanned the forest for the source of the sound – indeed, Inglor had perfected the art of locating a sound with extraordinary precision. With trepidation, he noticed an arrow nocked and pointing in his direction. He observed with even greater alarm that the arrowhead was completely immobile – the precise instant before it is fired. Unhesitatingly, he flung himself face down and heard the whiz of the arrow above him. In his quiet, crisp voice, he announced almost matter-of-factly to his two comrades, "We're being attacked. Prepare yourselves!"

To his surprise, the mysterious archer, casually walked toward him from her hiding place. Walking around as if she were sizing him up, she remarked, "You're not too bad! When they sent me after yet another Bhaalspawn, I had hoped you'd be more of a challenge than the other fools I've hunted." She smiled with sinister relish, more like a little girl delighted at getting a new toy, "Looks like I'm gonna get my wish."

"Be careful what you might wish for," murmured Inglor softly, "for you might just get what you wish. Is there a reason you're here?"

"Isn't it obvious, my little elf?" mocked the woman. "I hunt Bhaalspawn."

Inglor had learnt enough about the essence of Bhaal to recognise it in another soul, particularly when the creature was a powerful Bhaalspawn. He sighed, "What is it about Bhaalspawn that makes them hunt their own kind? I don't suppose I could talk you out of fighting?"

"Nope," returned the woman cheerfully. "Not all of us are witless cattle like you and this pathetic Imoen. I would have killed you before now, but I was keen on seeing what ritual you were performing. Thanks for making all the arrangements. I'll make use of it. After I've killed you, of course."

Inglor all but rolled his eyes, "You can try, I suppose. You're not the first to try and you won't be the last!" From the corner of his eye, he had noted that Imoen and Ellesime had taken up safe defensive positions around the wannabe assassin. Illasera however, chuckled on seeing their movements and cried, "Attack!" Swiftly from the woods, came two large warriors, one wielding a halberd and the other, a two handed sword. From behind him, still concealed by the bushes, Inglor heard the furious chant of a mage – the _horrid wilting _spell, Inglor recognised. A Cyrician priest, from well beyond the reach of the trio was casting defensive enchantments on the two fighters and the archer woman. None of this boded well.

All three of the defenders raised their own arcane shields, with Ellesime adding a spell of harmony that would allow the trio to coordinate their movements. The Bhaalspawn-hunter released another arrow at Inglor. The latter wordlessly raised an anti-arrow shield, but for once, he was surprised. The arrow flew right through the shield, vanishing it and Inglor was forced to dive beneath it with an uncharacteristic curse. However, he swiftly regained his footing and sent a spell of disintegration towards the archer. She was forced to dodge it, and jump to the side, ruining the aim of the next shot.

Imoen, in the meantime, had raised a couple of magical swords, while Ellesime had barely managed to shield herself from the _horrid wilting _spell of the mage. The two fighters had now closed in on Imoen, and even with her swords, she was having difficulty in defending herself. Ellesime, in the meantime, was engaging both the mage and the priest on her own. The mage, seeing that his spell had not had much effect was now conjuring animals and elementals and sending them against the elven queen. The priest, in the meantime, used a spell that sent a bolt of power against her.

Ellesime had seen what the two were doing. The mage would keep her busy with summoned fodder, all the while peppering her with offensive spells, while the priest strengthened his comrades. A sound strategy if she let it work. Letting him think it worked, she quietly raised a few creatures of her own. A dire bear appeared, followed by a few wolves. As the mage finished summoning the last of his elementals, the queen, who had been placing her hands on the ground, shouted a long elven incantation. The grass and the bushes in the area around were animated and they swiftly wrapped themselves around the limbs of the mage and the priest, who were still trying to make use of their cover. Naturally, this had the effect she desired. The two trapped humans fought and struggled to free themselves, giving Ellesime the moment of free time she needed. A soft burst of necromantic energy flew from her fingers and all the beings summoned by her foes disappeared in a flash of energy. Utilising the opportunity granted her, she sent a spell of _destruction_ towards the priest, who was the most exposed at the moment. He had just freed himself from the entanglements when he saw the queen's spell speeding toward him. He hastily flung himself sideways to avoid it, but Ellesime had chosen her spell well. It caught him a glancing blow, sending him reeling to the ground, the fire and the brimstone of the spell burning him as they passed. He shrieked in agony and grabbed his ruined left side, still holding up his shield to protect himself from the queen's summoned minions. But he need not have bothered. The queen was ruthlessly pressing her advantage. Ellesime directed her remaining minions against the mage, while she herself moved against the priest. Another spell of _ruin_ flew from her fingertips towards the fallen priest, who struggling to his feet, caught it full in the face. The Cyrician priest shrieked as the acid of the spell ate into his skin, and was still screaming when he heard the queen murmur, "May the Seldarine forgive you the desecration of this holy place!" before sending the final spell that put an end to his misery.

Imoen, in the meantime, was being slowly but steadily pressed back by the two burly fighters. Even with the two swords and her magical aegis defending her, she was being hard put to it to keep off the two fighters. If she left it that way, it would only be a matter of time before her magical shield wore out or a lucky hit got her. Leaving her shield to hold for itself for a moment, she gathered all her power for a powerful _Comet_ spell. Even as she completed the spell, she felt aegis give out and was forced to jump awkwardly backward to avoid the fighter's halberd. She was only partly successful – the blade caught her a glancing blow just below the knee, making her grunt in pain. Her injured leg gave out and she landed unceremoniously on her back. However, her own spell had already been completed and a terrible ball of fire landed at her feet, magically encasing her frame in a fire-shield while exploding with deafening force. The effect for the two fighters was disastrous. The first one, directly in the path of the fireball, was blasted to pieces and roasted to a crisp in a matter of seconds, his flesh cooked inside the battered parts of his armour, his shattered body scattering across the clearing. The second, partly shielded by the body of his colleague, was flung back with irresistible force against the bole of a massive oak and lay stunned and unable to move. Imoen ungraciously picked herself up, and hobbled forward, her movement slow, ponderous and all but impossible, given her wounded leg. As she saw the other fighter lying stunned, she chanted something under her breath, her lips drawn back in a snarl to keep off the pain. A sickly green bolt of energy flew from her fingertips and with a grunt, the stunned warrior yielded up his soul.

Inglor, in the meantime, had been having the worst of it. Only one type of shield – a special spell designed to keep off arrows that dispelled magic – worked against Illasera's bow and to make matters worse, Inglor could not retaliate effectively against the archer. She could make herself incorporeal at will, and all but impervious to the elf's attacks. Given the broad daylight and the open ground, he could not simply disappear into the shadows and fight from the darkness as was his won't to do, and he was being worn down. He had a brutal cut just below his left shoulder, an arrow had caught him just on the instep badly reducing his mobility, while a gash was clearly visible across his forehead. Inglor would have died rather than ask for help, but his eyes, watchful and grim as they were, bespoke of his helplessness and need for any assistance. His left hand hung uselessly at his side. Even as Imoen watched, Illasera toyed once more with Inglor, her immaterial form mocking his helplessness to harm her, while he desperately struggled to avoid her arrows. With a taunting chuckle, she materialised herself just out of his reach, and nocked another arrow to her bow.

Seeing her brother nearly dying on his feet shattered something in Imoen. A dark fury. deep inside the daughter of Bhaal burst forth, something she never knew she possessed. Ere she herself realised what she was doing, her lips were chanting a spell of _life stealing_. It was a foul spell and all but forbidden among mages, who considered it too brutal, perilous to the caster and cruel. However, Imoen had no such compunction at the moment. Illasera realised what was happening at the last moment, and tried to turn towards this new foe, but it was too late. Imoen's spell struck her squarely in the chest, reaving the life from the Bhaalspawn hunter's body, the archer's eyes still showing her surprise as life was drained out of her body. A few seconds later, her body crumbled before the eyes of the surprised onlookers. Drained from the effort of the curse, Imoen slumped to the ground.

Seeing the death of the archer, the mage decided that the battle was lost. He flung a blast of energy at Ellesime, and turned and fled into the forest. For a moment, the queen debated chasing the fleeing mage, but decided against it. Both Inglor and Imoen were badly wounded, and might suffer unpleasant consequences if their injuries were not treated in time. She rushed at Imoen and murmured, "Let me see your wounds, child"

"Inglor – see to him," gritted Imoen. "He needs ..."

"All in good time, child." The queen's mellow voice was ethereal and soothing. "But you are losing blood too fast. Let me see ..." She pushed back the mage robes and began working on the wounds.

---(Scene Break)---

Half an hour later, Ellesime had patched up both Inglor and Imoen to the best of her abilities. Both of them were seriously wounded, but there was nothing more she could do. Inglor struggled to his feet, "I think, your Majesty, we should complete the ritual immediately."

"You are mad, Inglor. You have expended too much of your energy. You could kill yourself by exerting even more!"

"Perhaps, but consider the situation," returned Inglor grimly. "That mage has fled, and it is quite likely that he may have reinforcements. Also, this battle here will not have gone unnoticed in Suldanessellar – the changing energies in this place will have been noted by Yssinel. Any moment now, we will be seeing soldiers from Suldanessellar here to investigate. In our state, we can neither flee, nor fight. If they catch us, we are dead!"

"But we don't know what lies on the other side ...," objected Imoen.

"Don't you think I know that? But this is our only chance. We must complete the ritual and take our chance with Bhaal's domain. Completing the ritual may possibly kill us, but staying here is definite suicide!"

Ellesime and Imoen considered his statement and slowly nodded. Yes, what Inglor said made sense. They nodded. As all the preparations had been completed before the battle, it took only a few minutes to complete the ritual. As Inglor finished sprinkling the last few drops of holy water on the runes, they all felt an irresistible force carry them out of the plane.

Inglor felt his feet slam into something hard and it was all he could do to stop from crying out in agony as his weight rested on his injured foot. He tottered back and fell on the brazen floor, and a few feet away, he saw Ellesime painfully rising to her feet. Swiftly, from his recumbent position on the ground, he looked around. There was no sign of his sister. His voice full of anxious fear, he queried, "Where's Imoen?" Ellesime and Inglor exchanged a worried glance as they realised that neither had the answer!

---(Author's Notes)---

Okay folks – that brings us to the next part, where I am going to differ considerably from canon. Do guess what has happened to Imoen and who were the ones plotting. Coming up next – Sarevok in Gehanna (Bhaal's plane is in Gehanna, not the Abyss), some more negotiations between Bhaalspawn and some painful soul-searching!

[1] - The Ith is a river that runs diagonally across Tethyr, from north-east to the south-west. It is the only natural barrier in the rolling plain between Saradush and Ithmong, and consequently the best – and only – possible hopeful position for any defensive army to hold.

[2] - The Tethyran governor of Saradush.


End file.
